Episode 29b vs75: Arms of Family part 2
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Voyager is ready for home, but is home ready for Voyager?


Act 3:

"Bloody hell," Kira muttered, using one of the epithets so favored by the station's former Chief Engineer, Miles O'Brien. By the Prophets, she missed Miles! He'd only returned to Earth a short while ago, but it seemed like decades since she'd seen him or his family.

Instead of succumbing to musing about the past, she gave herself a mental shake and dragged her eyes back to the vidscreen on her desk, to the list of messages waiting there for her, the top one flagged "high priority" and blinking rapidly.

Pointedly ignoring the screen, she grabbed Sisko's baseball off its little stand, leaned back in her chair, and began tossing it into the air and catching it.

The docking clamps had barely been secured around _Voyager_ before chaos hit her station. Subspace communications were still off the scale; Quark's was standing-room only; and in an astonishingly short period of time, the press had descended in their usual predatory fashion, trying to get the scoop on the mighty starship that had returned from the dead. Not that she wasn't glad to see _Voyager_ back, but her cynical mind couldn't help but grouse about the timing. "You had to wait until *after* the war, huh?" She said, speaking aloud as she usually did when alone in her office. "You couldn't have made it a few years earlier?"

She sighed and returned to the unavoidable, reluctantly opening the first message, which was another terse recording from Commander Claude Jean Craig. She recognized the shops in the background as those near the wall of public vidphones on the promenade. There were people everywhere. The ID line on the message named him as Press Liaison for Starfleet's Department of News & Information. He had said he was supposed to be in charge of containing the press, but from what she could see, he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Colonel Kira, this is Commander Craig, with the Starfleet Department of News & Information," he began, identifying himself unnecessarily. "I wish to remind you that _Voyager_ crewmembers have been ordered not to speak to the press. While I cannot order you or anyone else on Deep Space Nine not to talk to the press, I can suggest you take it under strong advisement, since I'm sure you know as well as I do how rumors and innuendo can too often be mistaken for truth. Thank you." The screen froze.

Yeah, right. Like she could stop Quark - or Mrs. Kim, for that matter - from talking to some guy from the FNN or even the Risian Ribald Daily.

"Bloody hell," she repeated, leaning forward and whipping the baseball across the room. It hit the door with a satisfying thump and flew immediately back toward her. She snatched it from the air in a well-practiced move, placed it reverently back onto its stand, and stood, addressing the vidscreen.

"Commander Craig, Mister Press Liaison, I wish I had ten minutes with you to explain just what it is we're trying to do around here - which is *not* playing wet nurse to some prodigal ship that didn't even have the decency to be around when we needed her..."

Kira stopped and blinked at the screen. What in the Nine Orbs was she going on about? She didn't have to explain anything to Craig, nor did she have to pay any attention to his precious *suggestion.* The station was crawling with media of every size and species! This was her chance to explain to the entire Federation and then some just exactly what it was they were trying to do around here. She slapped her combadge.

"Kira to Ro."

::...Yes, Colonel?::

Ears less trained than Kira's might not have picked up the moment's hesitation. Ro was preoccupied, something Kira recognized well from her days working with Odo. She hated to disturb the Lieutenant, given the way things were progressing on the station, but she needed her. Not for the first time, she felt a stab of sympathy for what Sisko had had to go through as captain. "You got a minute?"

::I'll be right there.::

#

Kira barely allowed Ro to enter the office before she started talking. Now that she'd had the idea, she felt like the clock was ticking.

"Is the lecture hall on the habitat ring available? The one with the newly upholstered seats? How fast do you think you can set up an "unofficial" press conference?" She paused for a breath and noticed with some chagrin that Ro was still standing by the door. She waved her in. "Sorry. Sit down."

Amused, but obviously curious about her superior's line of questioning, Ro fell into the chair opposite Kira's desk and answered her, without having to check the calendar. "Yeah, it's available. An "unofficial" press conference, huh?" She eyed Kira suspiciously. "But we're not supposed to be talking - "

"No," Kira cut her off. "It's been 'suggested' that we not talk to the press about _Voyager_, and, believe me, that's about all the closer Starfleet had better come to ordering this station to do anything. But the way I see it, there's no reason we can't talk to the press about other things. Don't you see? We can use the hell out of this! We can tell the whole quadrant what's been going on out here, starting with the twice-rotten conditions on Bajor and how the damn *Cardassians* are using up resources that should rightfully belong to us for the damage they did during the Occupation! The press'll eat it up."

Ro nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Kira's voice softened. "And we're going to do one more thing. We're going to remind them about the Maquis - not just the ones on _Voyager_, but *all* of them. Remind them the Occupation is over, the war is over, and that these people need to have their lives back, that children need to have their *mommies and daddies* back."

Ro shifted in her chair at this, but did not say anything. Kira pretended not to notice. "We can use this whole mess to our advantage, but we've got to move quickly if we want to be heard. The instant Starfleet sends for _Voyager_, we're screwed."

Ro leaned forward in the chair and snickered. "Funny you should mention that, Colonel. It's been a week, and there's still been no word from Starfleet about getting _Voyager_'s crew back to Earth. I mean, there's been plenty of subspace communications, but it's all personal, mostly _Voyager_ crew talking to family. I noticed one communiqué, to Janeway from Hayes, but that's been it. And since Janeway didn't turn around and give us a departure date, I guess that wasn't the summons to return. Wonder what's going on?"

Kira paused a moment to consider Ro's words, and then shook them off. She stood, and Ro stood with her. "Doesn't matter. Get out of here and grab as many press reps as you can on the way to the hall. Tell them you've got a story for them. Oh, and Ro," Kira paused and smiled wickedly, turning the vidscreen around so Ro could see it. "Be sure to keep clear of Commander Craig, Mister Starfleet Press Liaison. I have a feeling he won't take kindly to what we're doing."

Ro glanced at the screen and huffed in amusement. "I have a feeling you're probably right." She turned to leave and then turned back, pausing uncharacteristically. Kira knew the move.

"Something more, Lieutenant?"

Another hesitation and then, "Ah, no."

Kira knew whatever it was, it was probably far from "Ah, no," but she wasn't about to press her. If it was station business, Ro would advise her whenever she felt it was time. And if it wasn't, then it wasn't any of *her* business. Either way, she trusted Ro and that was all that mattered. "All right then. I'll meet you in the hall in ten minutes."

#

"Damn them all anyway," Janeway said as she threw her jacket on the bed. "All I want is answers." She turned to face Chakotay. "A few little answers, is that such a horrible thing?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not."

"We've been here eight days. Surely by now, they must have some idea what they plan to do with the Maquis and _Equinox_ survivors."

"They probably do." He was giving annoyingly short answers.

"Maybe I should promote you to Captain and you can deal with the bureaucracy."

"That wouldn't be a good idea." He walked behind her and started to rub her shoulders. "It's bad enough that you made me first officer."

"Best decision...well maybe second best decision I made in the Delta Quadrant."

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Yes? So what was the first?"

She grinned. "I'm sure I can find a better decision..." Her frown returned. "I don't like not knowing."

"Neither do I, but getting mad isn't the answer." He sat down beside her jacket on the bed.

There was a long silence, then she nodded. "Good," he said with a smile. "That's better. Now, have you had a chance to contact Daeja Thev?"

"No. Between the arrival of my mother, Alicia Paris, and everyone else, I've been too busy. Anyway, should I be contacting a lawyer now? It seems so defeatist."

"She did offer, and she's in a much better position to learn what is going on." Janeway walked over to her window. Deep Space Nine filled the view. Daeja had been her friend from back during her Academy days. The Andorian lawyer had been in frequent contact as _Voyager_ drew closer to the Alpha Quadrant. She'd offered to help Kathryn with the legal situation.

"I'll talk to her," she said with a loud sigh.

"Good."

"And the Maquis?" She asked. "How are they handling not knowing?"

"Reasonably well, considering. You did hear that the Bajor government is offering sanctuary for the Bajoran and Maquis members of our crew."

"Commander Craig explained it to me. I think he's terrified some of the crew might actually stay."

"They might," Chakotay said softly. She turned to face him. He raised a hand to stop her from interrupting him. "Kathryn, all of us lost friends and families during the war. Staying on Bajor means that we can start looking for them. Find out if they are dead or alive."

"And you?"

"I...I'll stay with you, see what the Brass has to offer."

She didn't voice her growing doubts about just what the admiralty would offer. "Thank you," she said instead. His answering smile warmed her. "Thank you for everything."

"Kathryn, please, contact your friend."

She sat on the bed with a resigned sigh. "Because you insist." She shook her head. "I still expect to wake up and find myself still in the Delta Quadrant."

He took her hand. "When you wake up, we'll still be in the Alpha Quadrant - and probably still on Deep Space Nine. Even if Starfleet is being stingy with the ticker-tape..."

"The what?"

Chakotay chuckled. "Apparently in the twentieth century they tossed small pieces of paper on returning heroes."

"I bet Tom told you this? It sounds messy."

"It probably was. But, the Bajorans have invited us down for a parade and celebration."

"I bet Commander Craig will love that..."

Chakotay shrugged. "This from the woman who took on the Borg...and won. You're going to let a press agent defeat you?"

"Put like that, I have no choice." She leaned over and kissed him. "We just won't tell him."

#

"Hello, I'm Nunk from Daily Fereginar News."

The two Talaxians greeted him warmly. Nunk continued to grin as he invited them for drinks. "My brother and I have traveled far to meet you."

"You have?" Sarexa asked as she glanced at Neelix. Nunk studied her, she was definitely a better choice. Her ears might be small, but she wasn't bad looking.

"You are the couple not from the Alpha Quadrant..."

"I've been studying the maps," Neelix said. "Fereginar isn't that..."

"I know," Sarexa interrupted, "I was just surprised that Ferengi would have reporters. They are..." she paused. "Umm...businessmen."

"That's correct, ma'am," Nunk said. "We are. But businessmen need news too. What is your homeworld like?" He frantically tried to think of other questions that a real reporter would ask.

Neelix laughed. "You're the first reporter to ask about Talaxia. The others keep asking about _Voyager_ and what Starfleet has planned."

"I'm looking for a different angle," Nunk said, pleased with his response.

Sarexa smiled. Nunk decided she had a nice smile. Maybe, after they'd finished extracting nanoprobes, she would perform oo-mox. Her fingers weren't as long and dainty as the Romulan officer...He glanced up when he realized she was talking.

"The reporter from the Risian Ribald was looking for a different angle," Sarexa said. "She wanted to know if _Voyager_ had been a love cruise."

"She also wanted to know about Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay," Neelix added

"And you answered her question, brilliantly." Sarexa reached over and patted Neelix's hand. The male Talaxian practically glowed. Sarexa took a sip from her drink. "We've become _Voyager_'s unofficial liaison with the press. I know Commander Craig is official, but really, I think this idea of not talking to the press..." Neelix hissed at her. "Well, I think it is stupid. Which is why we're talking. Neelix here is the Talaxian ambassador to the Federation..." Nunk leaned back and reached into his pocket. The vial fit comfortably into his hand.

"So, Neelix," Nunk said, trying to regain control of the conversation, and in the process, cutting Sarexa off. "I hear you were a trader?" Maybe he could learn something about the market potential of the Delta Quadrant.

"Trader, ambassador, smuggler...You name it, I've done it."

"What's business like?"

Neelix snorted. "OK, as long as the Kazon don't steal your ship and leave you floating in space."

"The Romulans can be like that." Nunk maintained a neutral expression. Both Talaxians reacted to the name, but didn't respond. He changed the subject. "So, what do you think of the Alpha Quadrant?"

"I haven't seen much," Neelix responded. There was a shout from the other side of the bar. The pair turned to look behind them. Nunk quickly opened the vial and dumped an equal amount of the pale tan liquid into each of the Talaxians' drinks. About time Blunt created the diversion. Any longer, and these two would begin to suspect he wasn't a reporter.

"Exciting place," Sarexa said as she turned back.

"It's like bars across the galaxy. Probably someone discovered their purse had been cut," Neelix said.

"Here's to your new life in the Alpha Quadrant," Nunk said as he lifted his tankard. The two Ferengi lifted theirs in response. Neelix took several deep swallows, but Nunk winced when the female grimaced after only a couple of tiny tastes. "So, what are your plans?"

Sarexa continued to take several more tiny sips, while Neelix answered. "As the new ambassador from Talaxia, I could meet with the president. Or I might open a restaurant: the Talaxian Tap and Grill? I haven't come up with the perfect name yet."

Sarexa giggled. "Neelix was _Voyager_'s cook. I helped. The Zornon...no that wasn't the name." She leaned over and tugged on Neelix's whiskers. Neelix's eyes opened wide, so did Nunk's. Oo-mox in public?

"Sarexa..." Neelix took her hands in his.

"You have cute whiskers," Sarexa said, freeing her right hand which she used to continue tugging.

"Not in public," Neelix whispered. Nunk stared, The dealer had told him that the tranquilizer would work in minutes. These two didn't seem anywhere ready to sleep. She leaned closer to Neelix and whispered something. "Now?" Neelix asked. He giggled as he clumsily stood. "Excuse us."

"But..." Nunk banged his head twice on the table as they hurriedly walked away.

"That was brilliant brother. Once again you blew it," Blont said as he sat down.

"It's not my fault. You bought a faulty - "

"Shut up," Blont hissed. "Everyone doesn't need to know. Follow them. I'm going to talk to that dealer about getting our latinum back. The tranquilizer was obviously faulty."

"Maybe we should capture the Borg male?" Nunk asked. His next suggestion would be that they just go home.

"No." Blunt pointed toward the bar. "It seems he's going to be adopted by some Starfleet admiral. Someone would miss him."

"And the female wouldn't be missed? It seems..."

"She is female, she won't be missed." Blont shook his head. "Follow them!"

Nunk stood. The two Talaxians were already out in the promenade. The ear rubbing was becoming more intense. "They won't go far."

#

::Ah, Commander Craig,:: Admiral Nechayev's image said. ::You asked for information about what to tell the press.::

"Yes, ma'am," Craig said, not sure if he was relieved or not that someone in the Admiralty was willing to give him information.

::I understand your predicament, but there are reasons that we are still unwilling to announce anything.:: Craig grimaced at those words, as his favorite Shakespearean quote leapt to mind. 'Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing...' He'd once considered a career in xeno-mycology - it was chance and the war that had landed him in his present position.

"Yes, ma'am. Colonel Kira is using the press that showed up to cover _Voyager_." He had to admit she was doing a pretty good job.

::My aides have brought me some of the coverage. We're trying to lever the Bajorans into cooperating...:: She didn't need to finish the sentence. Ever since the war, the Bajorans had done little cooperating - especially since the Federation had seemingly realigned themselves with the Cardassians.

Craig nodded. "The crew is anxious to tell their story..."

Nechayev glanced away and nodded, then returned her attention back to him. ::I'm sure they are. But we're trying to avoid them being tried by the press. You've seen some of the reports. Prime Directive violations, the Borg, and the whole affair over the _Equinox_. And there are some who think _Voyager_ is receiving too much attention.::

"Admiral, ma'am, with all due respect, it would be best to order _Voyager_ to leave Deep Space Nine as soon as possible."

::That's not possible - we're not ready for them to arrive at Earth. Outside of having them return to the Badlands, we can no longer keep _Voyager_ in isolation. You'll just have to keep up the good work, and try to keep _Voyager_ from having anymore adventures.::

He groaned, quietly of course. "Speaking of adventures, ma'am, the Romulans?"

::Taken care of. The Romulan government has assured us of this." She hesitated. "Starfleet intelligence is hinting that these rogue elements had outside help. We're still waiting for confirmation - but they apparently fled before the ship was captured. The two Ferengi brothers who weren't captured after that fiasco with the Pathfinder project.::

"Ferengi?" He stopped. There were those two from some Ferengi paper.

::You know something?:: she asked.

"Not really, ma'am. There are two Ferengi reporters on the station"

::There must be some profit somewhere in reporting. Admiral Hayes or I will contact you if there are any further developments. Good day, Commander.::

"Ma'am." Craig sighed when the connection was cut. "Computer, where is Captain Janeway?"

::Captain Janeway is in a meeting with Colonel Kira::

"And Commander Chakotay?"

::Commander Chakotay is on board _Voyager_::

#

Chakotay smiled as Mrs. Janeway sat down across from him. _Voyager_'s Mess Hall was empty - most of the crew preferring to eat and explore Deep Space Nine. He was on duty and had stopped by to have a light meal.

"Hello," she said. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Janeway, but weren't you supposed to meet with Kathryn?"

She raised an eyebrow as she sat down. "She had to cancel."

He wondered just what had come up this time. Their return seemed to be turning into a bureaucratic nightmare. "So instead, Mrs. Janeway, you decided to eat here?"

"You're here, and I was hoping to talk to you."

He nodded, wondering just what she knew. He and Kathryn had, so far, avoided any reference to their relationship, knowing that while the press would love it, Starfleet might not.

"And since you seem to be on a first name basis with my daughter, perhaps you can call me Gretchen?"

"Give me a few days on that one, okay?"

"I'd like to thank you for taking care of my daughter - and if you ever tell her that I said that, I'll deny saying it."

"Understood, Mrs...Gretchen." He smiled. Kathryn didn't like *being taken care of.*

"And now," Gretchen said as she leaned forward. "What are your intentions?"

Chakotay hesitated - wondering just how much Kathryn had told her. He decided on the safer answer. "First, find out if Starfleet plans on throwing me in jail."

"Chakotay," she said with a laugh. "I'm a mother. When my girls start mentioning the same man in every sentence, I pay attention. How long have you been together?"

"Eleven months, five days..."

"That's all?"

"That's all. We did a lot of dancing around each other for seven years." He smiled at the memories. "The crew knows, but we haven't told anyone else."

Gretchen nodded. "What are your plans?"

"I'm in limbo. We still haven't heard anything about what Starfleet wants to do with the Maquis...or with Kathryn."

"Do you think she's in trouble?"

"No, not really. She did make some decisions that many may not agree with. How much has she told you?" He didn't want to worry Mrs. Janeway - Gretchen - more than necessary.

"Some. Chakotay, I've been involved in one way or another with Starfleet for years. There is something going on - and the silence is worrying her - and me. She's worried about the Maquis and _Equinox_ survivors - but she seems unconcerned about herself."

"She promised to contact a lawyer friend of hers."

"Daeja Thev? I've talked to her. Sensible and Andorian. An excellent combination." Gretchen smiled as she started to stand. "Take care of my daughter, Commander - although it seems you've done a good job, so far."

"Always," Chakotay said. He watched her leave, his thoughts returning to their homecoming. Romulans, lawyers, and admirals...

"Commander Chakotay!" Chakotay closed his eyes at the sound of Commander Craig's voice. Just what had happened now?

#

"Enter."

"Hi, there, Honey," Tal Celes said as she walked into the quarters Angelo Tessoni shared with James Morrow. "I thought you were going to meet me in the Mess Hall."

Angelo sat up from his bunk and stretched. "Sorry. I fell asleep. Must be all that *hesperat* somebody fed me for lunch."

"Now, you said you liked them." Celes sat down next to him.

"Oh, I do. I just should have stopped after the first dozen. They're heavy little suckers when you eat as many as I did."

"Oh, poor dear, let me rub your tummy and make it all better," Celes crooned.

He quickly grabbed her hand. "Oh, no, you don't! As full as my stomach feels, that's the last thing I need. Come back in a couple of hours, okay?"

She wrinkled her nose in the way that had charmed him from the first day he laid eyes upon her. "Wasn't the parade nice, Angelo? All the music, and everyone cheering as we led the procession down the street to the reviewing stand?"

"You Bajorans put on a nice show. A lot better than I have any right to expect on Earth."

"Angelo, please, I'm sure it's going to be all right."

Suddenly feeling like a boiler about to explode, Angelo jumped to his feet. He began to pace, but it didn't make him feel any better thanks to the heaviness of his belly - he really had gulped down way too many of the spicy Bajoran dumplings.

"I wish I could agree with you, Celes, but it's not going to be like that on Earth. I hope it is for the original _Voyager_ crew, and the Maquis, too. But the five of us...no, we don't have any chance of being forgiven."

"Janeway hasn't said anything yet..."

"That's exactly right. She hasn't said anything, because they haven't told her she could, and that's because they're going to throw the book at us. And I can't say I'd blame them if they did."

"Angel!"

"Tarnished angel, maybe." He stopped his restless pacing and leaned against the bulkhead next to the doorway, his back towards his fiancée. She deserved someone better than him, and he knew it, but he'd never had the guts to cut it off in the beginning, when he should have. He'd been weak from being revived from the *dead*, for pity's sake - he'd told himself over and over that was the reason he ever let it get started. Of course, he knew the real reason was that he'd fallen in love with her long before that fateful mission to the damaged "derelict" vessel, loaded with refugee children and their caretakers, which had been fleeing from the Borg.

He felt her body leaning against his back. His resolve to break it off with her withered away again, just as it had every other time he'd tried it. Too late - way too late - even if her family probably wanted them apart, too.

When he turned to face her she fell into his arms, just as she always did. "Angelo, it's going to be all right. I just know it. The Prophets know you're a good person, with a warm heart. You've done things you wish you hadn't - who can't say that? I know I can't!"

"You haven't committed murder - not that I know of, anyway."

"Anyone who serves on a starship shares responsibility for any deaths caused by weapons on that vessel," she pointed out.

"Not quite the same thing as capturing innocent aliens and using their bodies for fuel," he replied dryly.

"Angelo, you were *under orders* of your captain and first officer..."

"C'mon, Celes. That defense never works. We're supposed to be ethical folks, us Starfleet types. We're supposed to obey our superior's orders without thinking - except when they're unethical, in which case we can refuse to obey."

"Right. At the risk of a captain's mast in which he can hand out a life sentence in the brig or exile you on a planet on the other side of the galaxy. All perfectly legitimate, official sanctions," she said savagely. "Oh, but, then you *do* have the right of appeal. And who, by the Celestial Temple, were you supposed to appeal to out there? Were you supposed to ring up Starfleet Command on your combadge and say, 'Oh, sirs, oh sirs...Captain Ransome is giving us unethical orders, and we need you to make him stop?' Let's be honest here. You had NO CHOICE but to follow those orders."

"When we ran into _Voyager_ we could have said something to Janeway. We kept our mouths shut, but it wasn't only because we were ordered to. We were ashamed because we knew what happened shouldn't have.

"By the Prophets, Celes, I can't tell you how often I wished I'd been one of the ones that got killed when the Caretaker first pulled us into the Delta Quadrant. They were the lucky ones. No black mark next to their names..."

She hugged him desperately. "Please, Angelo! Don't talk like that. You frighten me."

He leaned his head upon hers and stood silently for several moments, gathering his thoughts and his courage. Finally, he related, in a deadly serious, quiet voice, "I can't even begin to explain how horrible it was, right from the beginning. I know _Voyager_ didn't have it easy, but for us...I really don't know how we survived long enough to find out those poor alien beings could help get us home quicker, let alone meet up with _Voyager_. I walked around _Equinox_, trying my best to do my duty, in a fog of fatigue and depression every day. Never a day off; we didn't have a big enough crew for that. Our EMH was happy to shove 'mood elevators' and antidepressants down our throats to keep us going after good ol' Max 'adjusted' his ethical subroutines."

Angelo looked down into his lover's eyes. "The only good thing about being one of the survivors was meeting you. I got a chance to know you. I bless you for your patience with me, my ever faithful, 'Celes-tial' Celes. I'm grateful for every day I've spent with you."

"And there will be many, many more days together, I promise you," she said fiercely.

He broke eye contact with her, breathed deeply, and then met her eyes again. "Maybe. Maybe not. Celes, if they throw the book at us, it would be exactly what we deserve. I may be given that exile you spoke of, except on Earth. You know, I talked to Paris about New Zealand one day a while ago. From what he said, life imprisonment there wouldn't be that terrible..."

"No! It's not fair! You weren't the captain, or the first officer, or any sort of officer at all! You had no power to do anything else! And I don't think for a moment that Noah or Marla deserve to be punished like that, either, even if they were officers. What else could they do?" She broke down. Angelo found himself leading her to his bed to sit down, drying her tears and comforting her the best he could.

"Look Celes, I know your family doesn't know the details, but they've figured out there's a cloud over me and the rest of the _Equinox_ people. There are lots of rumors out there. People have heard about Noah's demotion, even if they don't seem to realize that Marla lost her rank, too, but was reinstated. Your parents and sisters have made it clear they don't care for me. Maybe it would be better to..."

"You stop that, Angelo Tessoni! I'm not giving you up now, not after all we've been through. We'll just have to face up to whatever else they're going to throw at us. If you get life imprisonment, then I'll spend the rest of my life on Earth, or wherever else they send you."

"But your Starfleet career..."

"My Starfleet career is *over,* Angelo. I was never cut out for Starfleet. I joined up ten years ago because my prospects on Bajor were so bad. I can't say I'm sorry. Ever since Captain Janeway took me in hand I've been a decent crewman. I learned a lot about myself out in the Delta Quadrant, and I've got plenty of self-confidence now. I've learned a lot about engineering and maintenance systems - enough to earn my own way once I've resigned from Starfleet. And that's going to happen after _Voyager_ returns to Earth, no matter what happens to you."

"Why don't you just accept the offer of asylum on Bajor from the government and stay here, with your own people?"

"No, I'm going to see this through. For the first time in my life, I'm going to see the end of something I started. But Angelo, why don't you take up the offer? I'll be back in a few months, I bet, maybe even weeks. You could wait for me here."

"Oh, sure. I could bunk with your parents. 'Hi there. I'm your soon-to-be son-in-law, just a little bit tainted by being one of those murderers from the _Equinox_. Mind if I stay with you?' That would go over great."

Celes couldn't help herself, she had to laugh. And, laughter being contagious, Angelo ended up laughing, too, at the absurdity of the situation and at the irony of finding the woman of his dreams when he didn't know if he had a future to offer her.

Finally, he fell back on the pillows and caught his breath - and Celes, too, when she fell down on top of him.

As soon as he caught her, she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, Angelo. Did I hurt your stomach?"

"No. It doesn't feel so bad now."

She turned on her side and cuddled up beside him. "So, I guess you will be going back to Earth on _Voyager_, then."

"I will."

"And you're going to accept whatever punishment they might want to dish out - no matter how much you've been punished already?"

"Yes, I am, Celes. I've got to do it for the same reason you're going to Earth. I've got to see it through to the end. I owe that to Captain Janeway and Chakotay and everyone else, for all they've done for me...for the five of us, ever since we became part of _Voyager_'s crew."

"Okay," she whispered. "And if they decide *not* to imprison you? If they decide you've been punished enough? What will you do then?"

"My Starfleet career is over, no matter what. Just like you said. I couldn't stay in. I could never look my cousin Giovanna in the eye again if I did...it's going to be hard enough as it is, let me tell you. She's a captain now, I found out. The last thing she needs is someone like me turning up on her doorstep."

"So, after it's all over - and it will be all over someday - should we come back to Bajor?"

"If the offer to settle down here still holds - after they've found out the truth about what happened on the _Equinox_ - yeah. I'd like to come back."

"You still want to build some houses?"

He smiled. "Yeah. I'd like to build something up instead of tearing it apart. Maybe I'll even volunteer time helping to rebuild homes for people who lost everything in the war, in the DMZ. Chakotay's sister is part of a group that's trying to reclaim Dorvan. I wouldn't mind helping them build some houses." He turned his head away from her. "Maybe then I could look in the mirror again, look at myself, and see the decent man I thought I was instead of the bastard I turned into on the _Equinox_."

Celes raised herself onto her elbow. Pinching his chin lightly, she pulled his face so it faced hers. "Look into my eyes, Angelo. You'll see yourself reflected in them. You don't need a mirror to see yourself as a decent man. I know your heart, Angelo Tessoni. You may not be perfect - nobody is. But you're a good man."

"You're sure about that?" he said offhandedly, although he hoped he could feel it was true someday.

"Hey, are you saying I have such bad taste I could love someone who had the heart of a pah-wraith?"

"Oh, never, my love! Never!"

He leaned towards her and kissed her, gently at first, then more passionately as she responded to him. He put his arms around her and held her close, embracing her love as she embraced his.

If you have your family who loves you, and you walk in good faith with the Prophets, Celes had always told him, you can face anything. Whatever he could do to make reparations for the mistakes he'd made, Angelo Tessoni was prepared to do. Hopefully, that was what "walking in good faith with the Prophets" meant.

Angelo did not know what the future might hold for him, but at least he was sure he wouldn't be facing it alone.

#

Tom nodded toward the bar and laughed. "So, why do you think our favorite press agent looks so glum today?"

Chakotay shrugged. "Perhaps someone told the press about when you slugged me?"

Tom grinned. "Poor Jonas, too bad no one ever figured out why he did it. He had every reason to hate the Cardassians."

"Seska was good..."

"Hey, old man," Tom grinned as he used his wife's terms of affection for the Commander, "I don't want to hear about *that*."

Chakotay groaned, then spoke to Craig, "Good morning, Commander Craig."

Commander Craig looked up from his glass. "Commander, lieutenant."

"Is there a problem?" Chakotay asked.

"A problem? Hell, there is a problem." Craig tossed a PADD to Chakotay, who nearly dropped it." Craig stood. "Did you know that the Romulan ale industry was nearly destroyed by our brewer's yeast? Good day."

Tom stared at the departing form of Craig. "Brewer's yeast? Did I miss something? What's gotten him so upset?"

Chakotay showed him the PADD. "The Risian Ribald?" Tom asked. "It sounds like a bad pleasure palace."

"Worse..." Chakotay chortled. "Pon Farr inflamed Vulcan fights hotshot pilot for favors of the passionate and beautiful Maquis Princess..."

"WHAT!" Tom shouted, grabbling the PADD from out of Chakotay's hand and quickly scanning down the open page. He alternately grimaced and groaned, but finally he admitted ruefully, "You know, they have pretty good sources. They *almost* got it right, but B'Elanna's not going to be too happy finding out I was the one who 'beat the Pon Farr out of the Vulcan.' And when she finds out who made her a 'princess'...Well, I'm glad it wasn't me." Ignoring Chakotay's impatient tapping on his shoulder, Tom tabbed down to skim a few more articles before saying, "Ah. Now here's an interesting one. 'Starfleet Captain and Maquis Warrior and Their Deadly Secret Love Nest on Planet X.' We always did wonder about that."

Chakotay tugged the PADD away from Tom and read for a second. "I think I understand now why Craig is in such a bad mood. This is complete rubbish - there's even a quote from me that I know I never even thought, let alone said! Everyone will think this is the truth when it's so far from it that..." He forced the PADD back into Tom's hands.

"Excuse me," a voice said. Both men turned around.

"He's some Ferengi reporter from the Daily Business Journal or something like that," Tom whispered.

"My name is Nunk, and I'm with the Fereginar Journal of Weekly Business News," the Ferengi said.

"Well, I was close." Tom grasped the PADD tighter in his hand.

"Why don't you ask *him* how they found out about deadly secret planets," Chakotay said as he quickly stalked towards the door, taking time only to wave at several of the crew who were approaching Tom.

Tom turned away from the Ferengi reporter and leaned close enough to Hugh Murphy to whisper, "Have you read this?"

"The Risian Ribald? Yeah. I've just glanced at the headlines, but that's why Tal here is so upset."

"Commander Craig isn't too pleased," Tom said.

"I bet he isn't," Tal Celes said angrily. "Did you read page six?"

Tom scrolled through the journal quickly to the sixth page. "Science Vessel and Their Bloody Hell from ..." He gasped, unable to read further. "Hugh, has Harry seen this? Or Marla or Noah?"

Hugh shrugged. "I don't know," Tal said. "Don't they realize who these people are? Angelo..." She walked away.

Tom swore under his breath in frustration. "I'd better warn them, and all the others. Reporters! Damn them all anyway."

#

"Do you wish to claim a final *nay'mey*?" the waiter roared.

Alicia would have been mortified if any of the other diners had turned around to look at them, but in the Qapla', service at a high decibel level was a given. No one even noticed.

"Yes, I do. B'Elanna, are you sure you don't have time for dessert?" Alicia inquired.

"No, I really can't. I gave my word to Joe I'd get back to Engineering by 2100 to take over for him. He promised to take Anne and the boys onto the Promenade one more time tonight to get some souvenirs. I really have to get going."

"I'm pretty full. That *boqrat chej Qevlu'pu'bogh* was really filling. I have room for a *raktajino* though."

"Good. You've had more than enough *IwHIq* already," Alicia reproved.

"Mom! I'm a big boy now. And I'm not piloting tonight!" Turning to his wife, Tom asked, "Are you sure you don't have time for *qa'vIn* or *Dargh*?"

"Oh, all right. I'll have some *qa'vIn*. With a shot of prune juice."

"Excellent choice! And you?" Davulth, their *jabwI'*, shouted to Alicia.

"I'll try the *naHlet yuch chanDoq*. I don't think you can go wrong putting chocolate and nuts together - it's always good. And I'll have some *Dargh* with lemon. Oh, wait, make that with *na'ran*. It's so much better that way. Icheb? Would you like something?"

"*vIychorgh na'ran* on ice, with a bowl of *naHletmey*," Icheb stated firmly.

"In the shell, or out?" Davulth sneered, showing teeth which appeared sharp enough to crush any number of nuts, in or out of the shell.

"In the *yub*," Icheb replied.

Tom nodded his approval, murmuring, "Great accent, Icheb."

"Excellent." The server turned and yelled out their order to the cook, who repeated it, vigorously, to confirm the orders. It was bad form, Alicia had learned, for a server to fail to memorize an order and write it down instead, but the consequences for claiming what was brought to the table were in error frequently were so severe, it was better to eat what was brought you, no matter what it might smell or taste like, than ask for the mistake to be corrected.

After the food and drink order had been accepted by everyone, the *jabwI'* disappeared inside the corridor built of synthrock which led to the kitchen. The back wall of the restaurant was decorated with a multitude of wicked looking daggers, swords, and weapons from various worlds. Every one had been carefully polished and honed to an edge so sharp it almost disappeared when seen straight on. Weapons from Earth included a medieval battleaxe, a Roman trident, and an Arabian scimitar, but the most numerous and prominently displayed blades were of Klingon origin.

Tom had admired a *bat'leth* and *Daqtagh* the first night the family had eaten at the Qapla', which had led to the offer from their server Davulth for a little combat the next morning. The Klingon restaurant's tables were arranged in two concentric circles around a large central area which served as a stage or arena for all sorts of events. Before lunchtime - and sometimes after - the restaurant doubled as a Klingon martial arts academy. The clash of weapons simply added to the ambiance of torches, flickering in a smoky atmosphere, casting shadows against craggy rock walls, with ruddy mood lighting designed to resemble the glow of fire pits.

When B'Elanna had entered the Qapla' for the first time, she'd commented, "It's a cave. What a surprise," in such a world-weary voice that Alicia suspected there must be quite a story connected with the remark. And if she hadn't suspected it, the sparkle in Tom's eyes as he added, "Perfect, isn't it?" would have clued her in immediately. From the expression on *Tom's* face, the story was probably courtship related.

Alicia was resigned to the likelihood she would never find out what that reference to a cave was all about. Courtship stories were seldom shared with mothers, Alicia had found.

This evening, the Paris family group dining at the Qapla' was reduced by one. When they ate at the Klingon restaurant on the second night after Alicia had gotten to Deep Space Nine, little Miral was with them. Tonight the Doctor and his friends Haley and Leonard were babysitting on the holodeck. Alicia had met Haley - a most charming hologram - but she had yet to be introduced to Leonard. When she'd asked her son to tell her a little about him, Tom had said only, "He's short." Since Leonard was also traveling back to Earth on _Voyager_, Alicia expected she would eventually learn exactly what Tom meant by that cryptic description.

When Davulth, the *jabwI'*, returned with their coffee, tea, raktajino, and fruit juice, he told them Alicia's and Icheb's desserts would take a few more minutes. "No problem." Tom replied. "We can settle the bill now. You can stay as long as you want, Mom. Okay with you, Icheb?"

"Acceptab... yes. That will be okay."

"Good!" Davulth said, as Tom made arrangements for the credit transfer. He slipped away as quietly as a man as huge as he was could and came back bearing a tray with the two desserts - a massive concoction of chocolate and a pecan-like nut, pungent with the fruity marinade the dish had been soaked in; and a second plate heaped with various kinds of nuts in the shell. Both desserts were crowned by a cup made from a hollowed-out *na'ran* rind, filled with a flaming, oil-soaked husk of some sort. "Klingon dessert flambeau," as Tom dubbed them. With a flourish, the waiter set the fiery dishes in front of Icheb and Alicia for all to admire.

"Delicious," Alicia said. "I mean, *DuQ Soj*. Is that right, Tom?"

" 'The food stabbed you,' yes, it really was good," agreed Tom.

The *jabwI'* beamed. "It is an honor to serve such knowledgeable customers. I must tell you, when I first saw you, Paris, I questioned if you were worthy of your striking wife; but you have surpassed all my expectations. Your skills with the *bat'leth* are improve daily. Already you are worthy of most opponents. If you continue to practice, you will be a master of the art in no time."

"I thank you, Davulth. You are an excellent instructor. _Voyager_ has a great Klingon battle program, but nothing beats having a true master for a teacher."

Davulth joyfully showed his teeth again. "So, Paris, will we meet again tomorrow on the field of battle?"

"Sure, if we're still on the station. _Voyager_ should be leaving any time now."

"Understood. Duty always comes first. If you remain here on the morrow, I look forward to our combat. If not, you have only to look at the sign in front of our establishment to know my message to you! HaHaHaHaHahahahaHAH!" Tom stood up and clenched forearms with Davulth, grimacing sharply to approximate a Klingon smile.

B'Elanna cradled her forehead upon her hand for a second, stroking her ridges in a circling motion as if trying to banish a headache. Sighing, she rested her elbow on the table, moving her hand a few centimeters to enable her fist to support her chin. Upon making eye contact with Alicia, she murmured, "Bet you never expected your son to turn into 'Mr. Klingon,' did you?"

Alicia laughed lightly. "Oh, B'Elanna, I learned long ago the only thing a mother should expect from her children is the unexpected. That way, you're never truly disappointed. You'll see. Miral will teach you all about th...oh, dear."

"What's the matter?" B'Elanna asked.

"I promised myself I'd never fall into that old mothering trap of giving unsolicited advice, and here I go, doing it anyway."

"You're forgiven," B'Elanna laughed. "Compared to the way my mother gave advice, I hardly noticed."

Alicia patted B'Elanna on the hand resting lightly on the table, thinking what a shame it was she would never get to know the woman for whom her granddaughter had been named. "Well, I'll still try to remember to keep my place."

"Keep what place?" Tom asked as he took his seat at the table again.

"Trying not to be a mother-in-law who butts in all the time," Alicia said, eyeing Tom, who was rubbing his forearms lightly. "You're going to have bruises all over your arms again, Tom. You really should be more careful."

"People will think I'm beating you," B'Elanna observed.

"Nah. They'll think our daughter is. And they wouldn't be far wrong. She pounds on me all the time." Tom sipped his *raktajino*. "Whew. Strong stuff. Just the way I like it."

B'Elanna rolled her eyes but spared everyone at the table any more comments.

"Well, I *really* have to get going now," B'Elanna said, draining her mug of its last drop of prune-flavored coffee. "I've got to go. Dinner was great. I won't be home too late, Tom, but don't wait up if I get hung up."

Tom gave her a quick buss on the cheek as she scurried away. "I really should be going, too," Tom said. "The Doctor hinted he wanted to favor Haley with an aria or two, and Miral always cries when he sings." Tom winked at Icheb, who smiled back. "Stay as long as you like. Davulth will bring you a refill of your juice and tea if you want. They're on the house. On the 'House,' get it?" Tom chuckled at his own joke.

"I got it, head of the House of Paris," Alicia said, unimpressed. "Now you just hurry off and pick up my granddaughter. I'll want to play with her for a little while later, if she's still up when I get home from my date with my second son."

"Yes, ma'am!" Tom grinned at his mother and gave a hearty clap to Icheb's shoulder. "Oops. Sorry, Icheb. I get that way when I'm in here. See you later."

Once Tom had gone the restaurant seemed quieter, even though the restaurant's clientele and employees were interacting as they usually did. She didn't try to strike up a conversation with Icheb immediately, however; his mouth was too full of nuts for him to respond. Icheb was following Tom's advice on how to eat nuts the culturally correct Klingon way. naHletmey* should be chewed in their shells until the nutmeats melted away, at which point any remaining shards could be spit out. Icheb was using his service plate to dispose of the spent shells, Alicia noted. Bringing an extra dish for the cast offs wasn't the Klingon way.

After Alicia finished her dessert - it really was difficult to ruin a dessert made with pecans and chocolate, she decided - she sat back contentedly, dabbing a bit of chocolate from her chin, until Icheb could answer her. "If we're here tomorrow night, maybe we can try that Andorian restaurant. There's one in San Francisco. I'd be curious to see if this one is as good."

Icheb shrugged, spit out the last of his nut shells, and said, "If we're still here. We should be leaving any day. Like Tom said."

"We should be leaving, but who knows? It's up to the admirals in Starfleet. They can take their time when they want to."

"You're married to one," Icheb observed.

"I certainly am. And if there's one admiral who is screaming to everyone he meets that _Voyager_ should be ordered home immediately, it's Owen!"

Icheb, his mouth full of juice, shrugged again in response.

"I guess you haven't had Klingon food too often, Icheb," Alicia said.

"No, it wasn't easy for Neelix to cook *gagh* in the Delta Quadrant, although he tried."

"It must have been impossible to find the ingredients."

"It was, but even if he had the right worms, it wouldn't have tasted like this. He likes to add Talaxian spices to everything. A little taste of home - as long as home is Talax." Icheb's smile was as sly as it was shy. Alicia smiled warmly back at him. One thing Alicia and Owen had worried about when they first discussed adopting Icheb was that the young man and former Borg might not have a sense of humor. Tom reassured them he did, and it had proven to be so. Icheb's humor was subtle and dry, but it was a pleasure to witness when it slipped out.

"Besides," Icheb went on, "B'Elanna isn't too fond of Klingon food."

"She seems to have enjoyed the food here."

"She says it's a lot better here than she remembered - or maybe her tastes have changed. She's not sure which."

"Klingon food is an acquired taste," Alicia admitted.

"Klingons like to be challenged by their dinner," Icheb observed. "It seems like everything either wiggles away from you, throws sparks at you, or tries to bite you back."

Alicia laughed heartily, with Icheb chuckling along with her. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him right there, but it didn't seem to be something she could do in any restaurant, let alone one catering to Klingon tastes. Not until she knew Icheb wouldn't be embarrassed by it. Young men could be so touchy about being touched sometimes! Even Tom had gone through a "no hugging" period.

When she got her laughter under control, Alicia said, "Maybe not everything, but some of it certainly is a challenge. There are a few Klingon restaurants on Earth, but this one has the best Klingon food I've ever tasted off *Q'OnoS*."

"You've been to *Q'OnoS*?"

"I've been to a lot of places, Icheb. An admiral gets to travel all over, and an admiral's wife needs to be ready to do her duty, too, even if it means traveling light years away from home as part of a diplomatic mission. That's the way life is in Starfleet. You need to understand that if you're going to be in the command track at the Academy."

"You'll be able to help me understand things like that," Icheb said earnestly. "Admiral Paris will, too."

"I'm willing to teach you anything you need to learn, Icheb. It will be a pleasure. I'm looking forward to showing you all sorts of places on Earth. I'm glad you'll be so close to home at the Academy. You can come home any time you like, even just for dinner if you don't like what they're serving in the Academy Mess Hall. You can bring your friends, too. I always got used to having a houseful of cadets around when Tom was there."

"Like Lieutenant Ro?"

"Oh, yes, like Ro. I always liked her. She's had so many sorrows so early in her life - and I'm sorry to say her sorrows didn't end then, but continue to this day- but she never seems to lose heart or stop fighting. That's always impressed me."

"B'Elanna is like that."

"I think she is, too, Icheb." Alicia hesitated, not sure if she should say anything to him, but it slipped out anyway. "And maybe you're like that?"

"I would like to think so." As he answered her, Icheb's expression was at once hopeful and wary, not that Alicia blamed him. It was understandable, after his experiences with his birth parents, that he would have trouble trusting anyone saying they wished to be his mother and father.

Alicia couldn't help thinking what a nice boy he was. He'd made an excellent impression upon her, and she knew Owen would be thrilled with him. How his birth parents could give him up twice as a sacrifice to the Borg was completely beyond her understanding. The first time, perhaps, Alicia could accept they could have set aside their love for their son and gone through with plans which, from what Tom had told her, apparently were the main reason he'd been born. After their first attempt failed, though, and by a miracle Icheb returned to them, how could they possibly have thought it would work if they tried again? The only conclusion Alicia could come to was that they really didn't love Icheb for himself. He was only a means to an end, a weapon.

It was one thing for a person to knowingly sacrifice their own life for a cause, but to place your own child into jeopardy, not once but twice - no, that Alicia could not accept.

All of this flashed through her mind as she watched Icheb solemnly drink the last of his juice of the *na'ran" fruit and set the empty glass upon the table. He licked his lips and then leaned forward. "Mrs...Mom." Alicia had insisted Icheb should call her either "Alicia" or a variant of mother, not Mrs. Paris. "I'm very grateful to you for all your kindness to me, but you know... you don't have to adopt me."

"Why not?" Try as she might, Alicia could not keep the hurt out of her voice at his unexpected statement.

"It isn't necessary," he said quietly. "You have already made me feel at home and welcome in your family. Tom and B'Elanna have, too. But I know you always made Lieutenant Ro a member of your family during the holidays. You can do the same for me, if you want."

"Don't you want us to adopt you, Icheb?"

He was silent for a several seconds, but finally, he said, "I don't want you to feel you have to just because Tom asked you to."

"Tom never suggested anything at all to us about adoption. That was my idea, and Owen's. I'm not sure who actually brought it up first, but it doesn't matter. We really want you to be our son. You know, I always hoped to have a bigger family, but after Tom, somehow we got swept away with other things and it never happened. Now I wonder if I didn't have any others because you were always meant to come into our family."

Icheb said nothing; he didn't seem to know what to say. Alicia wasn't sure she could say or do at that moment to convince him of her sincerity, either, until she recalled something she'd meant to tell him when she first came to Deep Space Nine, something that had totally left her head in the excitement of meeting him and seeing Tom and the rest of the family. She knew it was time.

"I know I told you there was going to be a court hearing in February about the petition for adoption. Did I also tell you that you'll be interviewed by people from the courts before the hearing?"

"No."

"Well, you will. It's a rule. You're not a little baby - you're grown up, really. You have the right to express your opinion about whether or not you want to be adopted by us, and the adoption can't take place unless the courts are assured it's something you want." Knowing how important it was for him to understand how much this meant to her, Alicia said, "I want you to be my son, Icheb. Owen does, too. I wanted it before I met you, and now that I have..." Alicia felt tears sting her eyes but plowed onward. "...now that I have met you, I want it even more, if that's possible! But if you don't feel you wish to...to be our son...officially...we'll still love you anyway."

Icheb picked up her hand, which she had unconsciously stretched out towards him. "It's not that I don't want to be your son. I just don't want you to feel forced into doing anything."

"Oh, Icheb! Nobody *forces* Owen Paris to do anything. Orders from a superior officer to send out a ship, maybe, but never anything as important as adopting someone into the Paris family! And nobody tells me to do anything like this, either!"

"Isn't admiral the most superior officer?" Icheb said, a hint of his sly smile coming back to his lips."

"There are admirals over admirals, Icheb...but wait, you've been studying under Commander Tuvok for long enough to know that..."

He nodded his head shyly. Alicia squeezed the hand she held and threw her other arm over his shoulders. "Let's get this straight, young man. No one, not even Tom, told us we should adopt you. We thought that one up all by ourselves. Now it's up to you. Are you with us? Or agin' us?" Even as she said it, she knew, with an overpowering feeling of joy, what his answer would be. She refused to believe it would be anything else.

"I guess I'm with you then...Mom..."

Alicia put both arms around him and hugged him within an inch of his life. The scamp! Or perhaps he had to test the depths of her feelings, which turned out to be so much greater than she had ever suspected.

She couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would have been if Icheb had been with them when Tom was growing up. The pressure to be a Paris would have been so much easier for her sensitive Tom to bear if it had been shared with a brother. Owen had accepted his daughters making plans for futures that did not include becoming a Starfleet officer, but Tom had always accepted his father's expectations.

If there was one thing about Tom's childhood she regretted now, it was not being more vocal when Owen came down too hard on Tom. Discipline is all well and good - essential to the development of self-direction in a person - but there were times when there was too much focus on discipline and not enough on letting Tom be his natural, humorous, caring self. Fortunately, she didn't worry about Owen making the same mistake twice. Icheb would have it easier - as the youngest child always seemed to. It wasn't fair, but there it was.

Alicia loved seeing how easily Tom had adapted to the role of Icheb's big brother. Her family was complete in the way she had always wanted but had been denied until now, with a pair of daughters and a pair of sons Alicia hoped would always care about each other and support each other, from one generation to the next, as well.

She wasn't sure how long she wallowed in her happy thoughts of the expanded Paris family, but when her eyesight cleared, she looked up to see Davulth staring at them. She didn't know what to say at first, but then she scolded, "This is my son, and I love him! So I'm hugging him! Is that all right with you?"

She was afraid her tone was a little belligerent until she realized, almost to the point of laughter, that it was very difficult to be too belligerent around Klingons.

Sure enough, Davulth grinned at her proudly. "Of course it is 'all right' with me," he said. "He is your son! No other explanation is necessary!"

#

As they walked out of the *Qapla'* and ambled down the Promenade towards Quark's place, Icheb said, "I was really nervous about meeting the admiral. Now I can't wait to meet him - but I'm still a little nervous."

"You don't have to worry about the admiral - your father - he will be as happy to see you as he will be to see Tom. And that is very VERY happy, Icheb. Losing Tom taught Owen to treasure every moment with his family, something it's too easy to forget sometimes when we get caught up in daily life. Finding out Tom was alive made a tremendous difference in him. He's really looking forward to having you be part of our family, too."

"I am...relieved. Do you think the admiral would mind if I called him?"

"Of course he wouldn't mind! He'd love to hear from you again. You know, you never told me what he said when the two of you called the first time."

"First time? You mean from the Delta Quadrant?"

"No, I mean, after I arrived at Deep Space Nine and told him how upset Owen was that he couldn't come. Weren't you there when Tom called his father then?"

"I don't think Tom's called him yet. I know he hasn't when I've been with him," Icheb replied.

Alicia strode down the Promenade for a few minutes, her short legs keeping stride with Icheb's long ones far better than they normally would. She tried to control her agitation. It was difficult. Fortunately, by this time Icheb was comfortable enough to keep his end of the conversation going with minimal input from her. He chatted amiably, pausing only when he took the time to wave at several members of _Voyager_'s crew passing them on the Promenade.

When they arrived at Quark's, Icheb reminded Alicia he was supposed to meet Sam and Naomi at Vic's. "Do you wish to come, too? Vic is a very good singer. The Doctor doesn't think so, but I think he's jealous of Vic."

Alicia tried to make her laugh sound natural. "No, dear. I have something I need to do. Run along and have fun."

The crowd inside Quark's seemed to be getting rather raucous. Alicia almost decided to go into the club for a short time with Icheb after all. From where she stood by the door, she could see Icheb disappear safely into the holographic nightclub, however. As soon as Icheb was gone, she bolted for a comm booth.

"B'Elanna?"

::Yes...Alicia? Is something wrong?::

"You'll have to tell me. Has...are you alone?"

::For the moment. Joe went to get some coffee in the Mess Hall. Something's wrong, I know it. What's the matter?::

"Has Tom called his father yet?"

The pause gave Alicia her answer before B'Elanna answered, ::Not that I know of, and I'm sure I would.::

"Why hasn't he called him? I gave Tom some very broad hints about what prevented his father from coming to Deep Space Nine! I'm not even supposed to know some of this stuff! Tom's been around Starfleet long enough to know how to read between the lines!"

::I wouldn't be sure of that.::

"Really?" Alicia was flabbergasted. How could someone raised in a Starfleet family not learn how things were done? But then she stopped and considered her son and his nature. "That's hard to believe..." she added, but her voice wobbled uncertainly.

::Believe it. Tom is *great* at nagging at you until you break down and admit something is bothering you. He tells you the truth the way he sees it - which is usually pretty accurate. And he's always sharing those little 'life stories' of his that make you feel you weren't the only one who was on the outside looking in. He's really good at that.::

"Life stories..."

::Yeah. You know. About spending a lot of time in his room when he was a kid, reading books - crashing the family flyer into Lake Tahoe because he was joy riding - hiding his head under hats because he hated how short his hair was cut - the time his father let him take over the controls of a ship for the first...::

"Haircuts? He's still talking about the haircuts? I only let Owen scalp him for two summers before I put my foot down! Isn't Tom over that *yet*? It was only hair! It grew back!"

::It's about a lot more than just hair. Tom thinks his father feels he's never measured to his father's expectations, especially after Caldik Prime.::

"Ah," Alicia sighed, " Owen may have made things worse for Tom at Caldik Prime. He was so adamant about finding out the 'true cause' of the accident that almost killed his son, I was amazed Tom ever was able to admit it was his own error. By then it was too little, too late. And Owen definitely overreacted to Tom's joining the Maquis."

::And now he's got a Maquis for a daughter-in-law. I'm sure he's thrilled...::

"B'Elanna, I must tell you, Owen now sees Tom's joining the Maquis - for whatever reasons Tom may have thought he was doing it - as the first stage in Tom's redemption after he was forced out of Starfleet. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't only thinking of himself. Since the outbreak of the Dominion War and all that's happened in the DMZ, Owen's told me many times how sincerely he regrets his own position early on concerning the Maquis. The Federation should have listened to what they were saying, he says now."

::I'm glad he can say that, even if it is a little late for too many people.:: From her tone, however, B'Elanna was somewhat mollified.

"That's a subject we're sure to discuss, ad nauseum, once _Voyager_ gets home, B'Elanna."

::I'm sure. Joe just came back in. Is there anything else you want to ask?::

B'Elanna would no longer be able to speak freely, but it was just as well. B'Elanna wasn't the one Alicia needed to speak with anyway. "Do you know where Tom is?"

::He's in our quarters, taking care of Miral. Do you want me to contact him?::

"No, that's okay. I'll find him. Thank you, B'Elanna - I'd...well, I'll tell you later, when it's just us."

::Good idea. Torres out.::

#

"Enter."

Alicia stepped inside the door and surveyed her son's quarters. The vista outside their viewports was magnificent. From the way _Voyager_ was oriented in space while hooked up to Deep Space Nine, Tom and B'Elanna's quarters faced out towards Bajor and the center of the galaxy, thick with glowing stars.

Miral was curled up in her bed asleep, a stuffed targ clutched in her chubby fingers. Tom was sitting at the computer terminal, his head haloed by the starfield behind him. He was working at something, probably the flight plan to Earth - assuming they ever received clearance to leave the station. "Hi, Mom," Tom whispered. "I'm afraid you're too late to play with your granddaughter. She went down early tonight."

"That's not why I'm here. Tom, call your father."

Tom's face froze into a mask.

"Tom!" Alicia hissed. "You have to understand. I told you your father was upset because he couldn't come to Deep Space Nine to meet you..."

"Heartbroken was the word I believe."

"Well, I lied. Try devastated. Inconsolable. Not to mention furious. Because all of them are true. He didn't *dare* come, Tom. He's still fighting to get _Voyager_'s crew home, but I hope the fact _Voyager_'s still here means he's scaring the pants off certain people - who shall remain nameless but who have 'admiral' tacked in front of their names - who are afraid of what the court of public opinion may decide about them if they try to stroke their egos by being hard-asses towards your crewmates. They'd rather look good to the public, and too many people would resent it if they came down hard on you."

"After all that's happened, are you telling me there are still some admirals who are afraid of a handful of Maquis who've been lost on the other side of the galaxy for over eight years?"

"Yes, because they don't want anyone to think of the Maquis at all. The spin doctors want to make believe they never existed; never told us what was happening to them; never asked for our help when they were being slaughtered; never warned us the same thing was going to happen to us; but of course, it did. If we'd listened to the Maquis and stopped the Cardassians earlier, maybe a *lot* of people who died in the DMZ, on Betazed, on Earth-all over the quadrant-would still be alive."

"But now someone *is* speaking up and shining the lights on their hypocrisy..." Tom said, as the light of understanding dawned in his eyes.

"Of course. Since they aren't sure what to do, they'd rather do the same thing they did to the other Maquis-ignore you and hope you go away."

"We've been gone for eight years! We're not going to be put off forever...although they've put us off for quite a while. So that's what's holding us up here?"

"You didn't think it was because they hadn't rounded up enough confetti for the parade, do you?"

Tom leaned back in his chair with his eyes shut, the color draining from his face. "And my situation? I don't suppose you've heard..."

Alicia grabbed her son's right hand in both of hers. "No. And your father has been asking them over and over again. No one seems to know anything. If they do know, they aren't telling us."

To stood up and turned towards the viewport, watching the stars outside, or pretending to, Alicia couldn't be sure which.

Miral's curly head suddenly popped up from her crib. Although Alicia and Tom's whispering had become increasingly intense prior to that, they both were completely silent at that moment Miral awakened. Perhaps the silence woke her. Whatever the reason, Miral called out "Dada" in the drawn out, reedy tone of a child awakened when she was still tired.

"I'll get her, Tom. I want to spoil my granddaughter a little."

Tom shook his head and sat down again. Out of the corner of her eye, while Alicia picked up Miral and crooned softly to her, she watched Tom as he *finally* took the hint and contacted Ops.

"Please put a call through to Admiral Owen Paris. From his son Thomas Eugene Paris. I'll be right here until you make the connection."

#

"Dad. Hi!"

::Tom! Oh, Tom, it's so good to see you. How is your mother? And B'Elanna and Miral?::

"B'Elanna's in Engineering, but Mom is here, busy spoiling your granddaughter."

::Good, good. I can't wait to do some spoiling of her myself.::

From the joy lighting his father's face, Tom felt ashamed he had put off this call for so long. Why did he still continue to doubt his father? All the signs that his father cared for him and wanted him home had been present for a long time. There was no hint of ambivalence in his father's beaming smile. "Dad," Tom gulped, "I'm sorry I didn't call you before. I guess...well, I'm an idiot..."

::Son, stop right there. You're not an idiot, you're just like your old man. We've both made mistakes, and we've both had trouble admitting it. Scratch that. I have trouble admitting them. Son, a long time ago, when you were willing to step forward and admit...::

"Dad, what's past is past. That's something I don't want to dwell on any more. We can't change what happened; we just have to go on the best we can."

::I guess we're both too pig-headed for our own good...::

"Now that I can agree with. B'Elanna would, too."

::You're mother would also probably agree.::

"She does," Alicia called out, loud enough to be heard clearly over the comm. His father's quick smile confirmed it.

"Well, anyway, I just called to say I wish you were here, but I understand why you're not - thanks to Mom."

Owen's image leaned in closer to the screen. ::I want to come to you son, but I'm afraid to leave here. Even if a ship bound for Deep Space Nine were leaving today, I wouldn't feel right about getting on it. I need to be here, doing what I can for your shipmates.::

"It's that bad, then?" Tom had hoped his mother had been overstating the case. Obviously she hadn't.

::Son, the hell of it is, I can't tell. No one is saying anything. I've got a 'conflict of interest' so I'm not part of their the inner circle. I suspect much but can't prove a thing. I can't be sure of anything right now except we can't trust certain people who are in positions of power. They could have far more influence than is healthy for a lot of your people unless there's a gadfly around here ready to ask the tough questions.::

"You always were good at asking the tough questions, Dad.::

His father laughed. Before either of them could say anything more, a door opened behind Tom and B'Elanna came in.

"So, you're sneaking off and calling people behind my back," B'Elanna sniffed, but with a smile that confirmed she was pleased and not unhappy to see them speaking to one another.

::Is that your lovely wife? Hello, B'Elanna. Get within range so I can see you. And Alicia? You, too! Let me see little Miral's face!::

Hastily, Tom pulled everyone close to him, so that the mini-sensors could pick up all of them at once. B'Elanna was subdued. Alicia hugged Miral close to her as the warning chime went off, but no one said a word during the few seconds that were left to them, preferring just to gaze at each other. Just as the connection was about to end, Tom saw Owen's hand float out towards them the illusion it would emerge from the screen on _Voyager_'s side and grab Tom by the hand. Tom could imagine what it would feel like so vividly, it was almost as if their hands were touching, despite the many light years they were from one another.

As the light began to fade on the screen, Tom started to reach out to touch the spots where his father's hand and face had been. He caught himself and smiled a little. Tom folded his fingers into a fist and bumped it against his breastbone, not in anger, but more like a salute one Klingon warrior would give another. Owen smiled broadly and returned the gesture, just as the image faded away.

Tom felt B'Elanna hand on his shoulder comforting him as he said sadly, "We only had time to say a few words."

"You took a first step towards your father. He did the same towards you. That's what counts," Alicia said, depositing Miral into lap.

"That's what counts," Tom agreed, as he gave his daughter a kiss. The ache in his heart was gone.

#

"Sarexa, sweetling...I mean Sarexa..." Neelix stammered her name a few more times, further increasing her fear that everything could only get worse.

"It's all right, Neelix," she said, forcing herself to keep her voice in a Borg monotone. "I don't understand what happened either. It must have been something we ate."

"I'll talk to the Doctor." They both glanced back at the room they'd rented on the spur of the moment. She flushed as she remembered what they had done.

"Perhaps that would be best." She heard her voice crack and saw Neelix look over at her.

"Sarexa," Neelix said, "I respect you too much to let this. . ." His voice trailed off as he looked away.

Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke fast, knowing her courage might fail if she waited. "Neelix, we need to talk..."

"Hello, again," Nunk said cheerfully from behind them. "You disappeared so fast, we didn't get a chance to finish our interview." He motioned toward Quark's.

"Not now," Neelix said angrily.

"Neelix, there's no point in being rude." She smiled at Neelix, then nodded her head. "We would be happy to finish our interview. Where were we?"

"Discussing your adventures in the Delta Quadrant. Let me get you a drink?"

"No," Neelix said sullenly.

"Two lemonades," that was a drink they'd had frequently on _Voyager_ with no interesting side effects.

"Lemonade?" Nunk responded.

"If they don't have that," Sarexa said, "water will do." She motioned toward a table. "Will your brother be joining us?"

"Perhaps later. You mentioned that you were the cook," Nunk said to Neelix as they sat.

"Cook, ambassador, morale officer...whatever needed doing," Sarexa answered after several seconds of silence. "Neelix is the new Talaxian ambassador to the Federation."

"I might open a restaurant," Neelix said quietly.

"Sounds interesting, let me get our drinks." A few long, silent minutes later, two glasses of lemonade, and a glass of some dark brown liquid were placed on the table. "And what is Talaxian food like?" Nunk asked as he sat down. He took the brown liquid.

"Quite good," Neelix said. Sarexa smiled at him again, but Neelix just clasped his glass with both his hands and stared at it.

"The crew found it to be an acquired taste," Sarexa said as she sipped her lemonade. "They never did learn to like leola root." She put the drink down. It wasn't as sweet as she remembered from _Voyager_.

"Isn't your lemonade good?"

"It's fine," she said. "May I ask you a question?" She didn't wait for Nunk to reply. "Why are you so interested in leola root?"

"Ma'am, getting information about _Voyager_ or any of her crew has been difficult. I'll have an exclusive interview with you. Perhaps my article will be picked up by the Federation press." Nunk leaned back and patted the top of his head.

"I'm sure you'd do better with someone else," she replied. The noise from the bar increased.

"I'd sure like to meet this passionate and beautiful Maquis princess. A pleasure cruise for Starfleet screw-ups and traitors?" a raucous male voice said. Sarexa glanced quickly behind her. The speaker was a short human in a Starfleet gray uniform.

"Shut up, Philip," the woman beside him said.

"I won't shut up. See them there. Like they own the place - where were they when we were fighting the Dominion? Where were they during the Breen attack on Earth? Some heroes." The woman tugged at Philip's arm. "While they were *having* their beautiful and passionate princesses, we were fighting and dying to save the Federation." A half dozen Starfleet officers and some civilians seemed to nod in agreement.

"And _Voyager_'s captain," a very tall alien - Sarexa didn't recognize the species - said. She didn't hear what he had to say about Janeway. She then noticed that Ayala and four others from _Voyager_ were discussing something at another table. She waved. Hugh Murphy raised his tankard high in acknowledgement. She shook her head.

"See." She watched as Philip marched over to Ayala's table. Darren Pierce stood. "Cowards. You ran to the Delta Quadrant. Now the war is over, you decide to come home."

"We don't want any trouble," Pierce said.

"Coward!"

She jumped when Nunk tapped her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "What was the question?"

There was a shout. They turned in time to see Darren Pierce punch Philip. Ayala attempted to grab Darren, but two others jumped them, and threw them to the floor.

Neelix stood quickly. "They've been drinking! We must stop them." He started to hit his combadge, but a chair flew toward them. Sarexa dove under the table.

"Neelix! We have to stop this." Someone slid, head first, across the floor. "It's Hugh!" she shouted.

"Don't worry, sweetling..." she could barely hear Neelix's response as he stood and ran over to assist their comrades. She started to stand, but someone grabbed her.

"Got her," a voice said. Nunk raised his head from the floor and sat up.

"Good. We'd better be going."

"Come on female," Blont said as he pulled her up. She managed to reach out with her free hand and grab the glass of lemonade.

"I am not going anywhere, especially with someone who calls me *female*," she snarled as she threw the glass at Blont's face. It hit him squarely on his left lobe, giving her a chance to make her escape. Blont's screams were almost as loud as the brawl. She turned at the sound of security rushing into the bar. She looked around, the place was suddenly quiet. Ayala stood up, shaking his hand. Neelix was helping Pierce stand.

"Are you all right, ma'am," a Bajoran soldier said. "I'm Officer Mil."

She nodded. "Fine...The two Ferengi, Nunk and his brother! They just tried to kidnap me." She pointed toward Blont, who was holding his hands over the wound and crying. She caught him say something about oo-mox. Mil pointed his phaser at the two brothers as he ordered them to stand.

"It's a mistake," Nunk said. "We were trying to protect her. Blont was afraid she might get injured in the fight."

Sarexa shook her head. "That's not what happened."

Mil nodded at her as he spoke to someone through his comlink. "Lieutenant Ro is on her way. It seems she is particularly interested in these two." Mil nodded toward the brawlers, now standing looking rather subdued. He spoke to them. "Quark will itemize the charges you are responsible for. Take them to the brig."

"Bloody _Voyager_," the instigator, Philip, said as he was lead away. "Wanna bet they get preferential treatment." He stumbled at the door. A female Bajoran entered.

"Lieutenant Ro," the officer said. "Sarexa here claims that these two Ferengi, tried to abduct her."

"Blont and Nunk," Ro said with a big smile. She turned to look at the pair. "It seems Starfleet intelligence is most interested in questioning these two." She looked toward the groups of prisoners. "Escort the _Voyager_ crew to my office. Captain Janeway is on her way over. I'll notify Starfleet that we have their two Ferengi."

Blont started to shout. "I need to see a doctor. A qualified doctor in Ferengi neurophysiology. I'll sue if I can't have oo-mox!"

"No you won't," Ro said. "Get them out of here, place them in maximum security."

"We have information," Blont shouted, "about how the Romulans..." He screamed when the guard bumped his lobes.

"What was that about?" Sarexa asked as the prisoners were marched out. She noted that Neelix wasn't one of them.

"Starfleet intelligence didn't say anything other than they were after Borg technology."

Sarexa shivered at the thought.

"Sarexa?" Neelix said. "Are you all right. If I had known, I wouldn't have left you like that..."

"Neelix," she smiled at him. "I'm fine. Really, I am."

He took her hand. "We need to talk."

"Yes, we do. But right now, the crew comes first." She reached over and tugged his whiskers, smiling as she did so. "They are our friends. I owe them my life and freedom." Her smile grew. "After everything is over, we'll talk. You'll need my help, if you plan to open that restaurant."

"Just help?"

"We'll see."

#

When they'd met for dinner after the memorial service at the station shrine a few days ago, Tom and B'Elanna had described Janeway's "death glare" to Ro. She had had a good laugh when B'Elanna demonstrated it for her. Tom claimed B'Elanna's was a pretty fair imitation of the original.

Not even close, Ro thought, as she watched - and listened - while _Voyager_'s captain tore into her crew.

"Mr. Murphy! It doesn't matter *what* they say about us! We know the truth! Striking fellow Starfleet officers and civilians in a public place is not the way to convince anyone of that truth!"

Hugh Murphy flinched, looking like he would be happy to sink through the deck, until Janeway stalked past him and turned her attention to the next two unfortunates in line.

"Michael Ayala! Julia Harper! You are security officers charged with *keeping* the peace, not breaking it! Not to mention breaking *chairs*, Ms. Harper! What do you have to say for yourselves?"

"In all fairness, Captain, both Lieutenant Ayala and Crewman Harper were trying to stop..."

"MR. NEELIX! Am I speaking to you?"

"Well, no, Captain, but..."

"SILENCE!"

Ro decided she knew how Janeway got that husky voice of hers.

"Mr. Sofin! Did it ever occur to you someone might have an ulterior motive when he tells you that you shouldn't put up with name-calling? Like, when a *Fe-ren-gi* starts whispering drivel like that in your ear?"

Ro rather liked the way Janeway snarled out "Ferengi." She'd have to remember that the next time she needed to chew out Quark.

"Now, since you've been so vocal, Mr. Neelix, perhaps you can explain to me how you could be lured into a fight from across the room, leaving Sarexa vulnerable to a kidnap attempt!"

"I...uh..." The Talaxian was driven to speechlessness, unable to meet the eyes of either his captain or Sarexa, who was shaking with frustration but wise enough to keep her mouth shut while Janeway was so angry.

Ro considered intervening at this point, especially if Sarexa should be included in Janeway's ranting. Officer Mil had obtained several statements from witnesses which made it clear that Sarexa was defending herself against the kidnap attempt - and that, in fact, none of the _Voyager_ crew had been doing anything but defending themselves in the fight, at least, initially. That was why Ro had dealt with the others swiftly, incarcerating the civilians and sending the other Starfleet brawlers to their own brigs for confinement before allowing Janeway to pick up her crew. However, no one was more aware of the need for discipline than Ro was, at this point in her career; and as Janeway turned her attention to the final person in line before her, Ro relaxed, confident the captain knew exactly how to handle the situation.

"And you, Crewman Pierce! Whatever possessed you, of all people, to start throwing punches in a common barroom brawl, considering your medical history! What were you thinking? Obviously, you weren't thinking at all, were you?"

At close to two meters in height, Darren Pierce could not see any part of Janeway without looking down, since she had planted herself directly in front of him and was glaring up at his chin. The young man, to his credit, remained silent and at rigid attention, his eyes fixed upon the opposite wall, as his captain berated him.

As she turned away from Pierce, Janeway shook her head in dismay and breathed in and out in a deep cleansing breath. The action calmed her visibly, although not one of the crew did more than blink while waiting for what was to come next. Facing the Bajoran constable, she said, "You may tell Mr. Quark that reparations for damages done by my crew - but only my crew - will be made promptly, as soon as I receive the necessary paperwork. If you feel you can release my crew to me now, Lieutenant Ro, I will accept full responsibility for them. They will be confined to quarters until Commander Chakotay and I decide what to do with them - which *may* not be for several weeks, I can assure you."

Ro sincerely doubted they would be punished for more than the rest of the evening - or, at most, for the rest of the time _Voyager_ remained at Deep Space Nine. Hopefully, for all their sakes, that would only be for a day or two more at most. _Voyager_ had already been hung up here for almost two weeks. Ro knew the entire crew, by this time, was on edge because the welcome from Starfleet they had had every reason to expect didn't seem to be forthcoming. Those feelings of uncertainty had to be a factor in this blow-up in the bar. However, Ro had her "constable's face" on, and she replied gruffly, "I can release them to you, Captain, but first, I'd like a minute of your time. I have something to discuss with you...in private."

*That* should throw a little fear into them, too, although Ro was a little sorry about it. Under the circumstances, it couldn't be helped. Ro hadn't had a chance to tip off Janeway of what she needed to say to her before she'd started verbally ripping her crew to shreds.

Janeway withdrew to the corner, where Ro had been standing while _Voyager_'s captain had lambasted her crew. Ro could feel all their eyes upon Janeway and herself as she told the captain, as quickly and succinctly as she could, the bare bones of what she had to impart.

Ro had only relayed a few sentences before Janeway winced, as if in pain. She looked down at the deck and began to nod in response to what Ro said. From the crew's vantage point she was in total agreement with the Bajoran. Finally, after Janeway shook hands with the Bajoran constable, she turned back to those caught brawling. They were all still at attention and appeared puzzled by what they'd just seen. Ro was satisfied. She hadn't wanted anyone to overhear what she'd had to say. They'd all know what it had been about soon enough.

"Lieutenant Ro has released you into my custody. I want everyone but Lieutenant Ayala to report back to _Voyager_ immediately! No stopping for *anything*. No speaking with *anyone*!"

The abashed crew shuffled out in single file, followed by Sarexa, who spared a sympathetic glance in Ayala's direction before exiting Ro's office. Ayala himself remained rigidly standing at attention, although he had a puzzled look on his face. Ro felt sorry for him; she was sure he could have no idea why he had been singled out like this. Ro wasn't looking forward to the next few minutes herself, but she had to do what she had to do. As Ayala would have to do as well.

After the rest of the crew had left the security office, Janeway said to him, in a markedly softer voice, "Mr. Ayala, Lieutenant Ro wishes to speak with you. You are on your own recognizance. Since you yourself are a security officer, I'm sure you can be trusted to contact me afterwards *immediately* to advise me of your location?"

Ayala nodded mutely.

After the captain left, Ro gestured to the chair next to her desk. "Please, take a seat, Lieutenant."

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Please, be seated," Ro said again, taking her own advice and sitting down at her desk, folding her hands together in a gesture that echoed a previous occupant of the desk.

He remained on his feet. At his continued hesitation, Ro said, more roughly than she'd intended, "Sit down, Ayala! I don't want you keeling over on me when I tell you what happened to your family!"

He sat.

Act 4

Ro cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and said, "I'm sorry to tell you this, Lieutenant, but your wife Ayala Marit is dead. Your son Raul is alive and well, however, and..."

"My son's alive? Where is he? When can I see him?" The tall man grasped the arms of the chair as if he would zoom into the air if he didn't hold on tightly.

"He's safe, on Bajor. We can take a runabout to him in a few hours. Captain Janeway gave me permission to bring you to him."

"Why can't we leave now?"

"It's past midnight where he lives, and the person who's been taking care of him still has to tell him that you're alive. If we leave in three hours, or maybe four, she'll have a chance to let him know you're coming."

"Why didn't she tell him when _Voyager_ came back? And why didn't you tell me about this as soon as I got to the station?"

Ro sighed deeply. "It's a long story, but the short version is, I didn't know Ral - I mean, Raul - was your son until after _Voyager_ came back."

"You didn't know he was my son?" Ayala glared at her, incredulous.

"No. I didn't know his correct name, you see. But when I saw you with your other boy Luis last week, it struck me how much both of you reminded me of Ral - Raul. Sorry. Old habits die hard. It's going to take me a while to get that right. Anyway, after I suspected he was your son, I had to be sure. I didn't want to get his hopes up - or yours - and then turn out to be wrong."

Ayala nodded gravely. "I understand. But why did it take so long?"

Ro chuckled mirthlessly. "Until today I couldn't reach Kajee, the woman he lives with. She'd gone camping in the highlands with her daughter and...*Raul* to keep them away from all the hubbub over _Voyager_'s return. Homecomings and family reunions have always been tough for them."

"I can imagine that," Ayala said, unable to erase the bitterness from his voice. "But you're sure my wife is dead? Since you didn't even know she was my wife?"

"Yes. I'm sure. There's no doubt she's gone."

Ayala's dark eyes bored into hers, not precisely disbelieving, but wanting to be as certain as Ro was that he had lost his wife. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he asked, "How did she die?"

Ro had hoped this question wouldn't come up so soon. "Like I said, it's a long story."

"If we can't leave for Bajor yet, I've got the time."

"That, we do," Ro acknowledged grimly. "Okay. I'll tell you if you really want to know."

"Yes, I really want to know." The words blistered with intense, barely withheld emotion.

Ro took a deep breath, then plunged into the story in a matter-of-fact voice, the only way she knew she would be able to get through a recitation filled with memories so painful for her to recall. "Jelzin II - you know it?"

He thought a moment. "The planet with the primitive reptilian culture? A long way outside the DMZ?"

"That's the one."

"Nobody was supposed to land a ship there because of possible cultural contamination."

"The Maquis got a lot less picky about things like that after Liberty and _Voyager_ disappeared, Ayala. Because Jelzin's overall climate is so warm, it's temperate enough near the poles for our species. The indigenous reptiles all lived in the northern hemisphere, but they didn't have the technology to cross a large river on their own continent, let alone sail across the ocean all the way to the south polar continent. It was unlikely their stone-age way of life would be corrupted even if the Maquis sought refuge in their antarctic region. And a lot of Maquis families did seek it, when things got really bad. That far outside the DMZ, as you say, everyone thought it would be safe there. "

Hoping Ayala would say he could figure out the rest without Ro having to tell him all the details, she stopped to catch her breath, but he stared at her expectantly. Ro sighed deeply, stood up, and began to pace.

"I did supply runs to Jelzin from time to time. Marit was the quartermaster at one of the camps there. I got to know her slightly, but not very well. I'm afraid I never learned her whole name. I thought Marit was probably her family name, as a matter of fact, since that's the only name I ever heard anyone call her.

"When the Jem'Hadar and Cardassians put on the final push to eliminate the Maquis, they started attacking us without worrying about where the camp was. In the Romulan zone? No problem. They'd go there. Forays into Federation space became frequent. Finally, when things really seemed to be falling apart, we decided it would be better to evacuate everyone on Jelzin to Bajor. As soon as we managed to get hold of eight transports - two for each of the camps - we went, but we got to Jelzin one day too late."

Ro stared at the floor, unable to see the deck plates or even her own feet; she was too busy visualizing images from the part of her memory she preferred to ignore as much as she could. "We were loading the transports when sensors reported five Jem'Hadar and three Cardassian ships entering the system. We tried to rush the people on board as quickly as possible instead of worrying about their possessions. People tried to hurry, but it was chaos. Babies screaming. Old folks wandering around confused. Shouts from family members calling for those who had gotten separated from them.

"I was rounding up a group of youngsters, trying to push them onto my transport. Suddenly Marit was right in front of me, shoving her little boy into my arms, and shouting she had to go back to look for her other boy 'Luee.' She'd lost him somehow. I never even had a chance to ask her the little boy's name before there was a terrific explosion. The concussion threw me down onto my back with Marit's little boy on top of me, screaming - I guess- -I couldn't hear a thing. I'd been deafened by the blast. When I got up on my feet, I saw that a chunk of the hillside had been blown onto the crowd that had been running towards my transport. One glance, and I knew a lot of them were never going to get up again. Marit was one of them." Ro looked over at her listener, about to ask Ayala if he really wanted to know again, but from the intent way he was staring at her, she knew he did. "Marit was lying next to - well, under, actually - a boulder that had been kicked down the mountainside by the blast. From the way she was...lying there...there was no doubt she was gone. I..." Ro gulped. "You don't need every detail, do you?"

Ayala shook his head and looked away, slumping further forward, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together tightly into a ball.

Ro shook her own head to dispel the horrible image of Marit's crushed body before continuing. "Well. I got the little boy and as many others as I could onto my transport. Most of them were really young kids. When I couldn't see anyone else moving towards me, I figured it was as full as it was going to be and I managed to lift off. Of the eight transports that left Bajor, only two made it back.

"When I got back to Bajor, I went to the home of Kajee Harrel. He was the pilot of one of the transports that didn't make it, and he'd been a friend. I owed it to him to bring the news to his wife in person. She took it as well as could be expected under the circumstances. They had a little girl who was barely three. Since I wanted to hunt for Marit's relatives, Kajee Narel offered to take care of Marit's little boy for me.

"I hadn't really had time to ask him his name on the trip to Bajor. At first I couldn't hear him anyway, and when my hearing started coming back, I could tell he was still in shock. He wasn't much better at Kajee's, and he was little - barely four years old, I know now. All we could get from him was 'Ral.' So I looked on every missing person's list I could get my hands on, trying to find someone looking for a little boy named Marit Ral. When I came up empty, I remembered Marit was going to look for 'Luee,' so I looked for a boy named Marit Luee. I came up empty again. Then I started looking for *anybody* who knew Marit. By that time, almost all of the adults I'd rescued had disappeared. It was difficult to find anyone who knew who I was talking about, let alone anything about her or her kids. I found old people who said they didn't know her or little kids who knew the same names I did, nothing more.

"Several months passed. The trail was cold. I took a sample of Ral's blood and filed it with the Bajoran genetics archives, with instructions to compare it with that of anyone looking for a boy about his age. I admit, I was surprised when I got the results and saw he was half-human. He doesn't look it. That sent me back to the lists, looking for a human family searching for a half-Bajoran, half-human boy. Still nothing.

"Nothing, until I saw you with Luis last week. I took Raul's genome report to Tom Paris and asked him to compare it with the crew's. I told him I'd been looking for someone for a long time, and I wanted to see if there was a possibility the child's relative was on board _Voyager_ all along. Tom contacted me less than an hour later with the proof. I was with him when you greeted Luis, so I think he might have suspected what I did, just from the way I reacted to the two of you together. We've been friends a long time. I told him not to tell anyone, not even B'Elanna or Captain Janeway, until I could warn Kajee first. I knew she'd be devastated to lose Raul. And then I couldn't find her until today!"

As Ro finished her recitation, Ayala's eyes went out of focus. She'd seen it before, especially since she'd taken over as constable on Deep Space Nine. A grief too great for tears or anger could freeze the bereaved. He looked dazed, as if he couldn't find words to express his feelings. Then he surprised her, saying softly, as if to himself, "I tried to explain it away, but when we started getting regular communications from the Alpha Quadrant and I never heard from her...I knew she was gone. Even if Marit had been in hiding, she would have found a way to contact me."

"I'm sorry I couldn't notify you. It would have helped if I'd known Ral's family name was Ayala, honestly. I would have checked _Voyager_'s crew manifest long ago, after we found out all of you were in the Delta Quadrant. But Raul had been traumatized. He didn't seem to know his whole name, maybe because he was so very young, but maybe Marit hadn't used the name Ayala much after you disappeared - it may have caused problems for her in some places because you were a known Maquis. I don't know if we can ever find out now. Once, Kajee and I got 'Uleeya' out of Raul, but I swear, I thought he was mixed up and talking about his brother! So I gave up looking. Kajee and I applied to the courts to be appointed Ral's co-guardians under the provisions of the 'Custodian in Absence of Parents' Statute. You know about that law?"

Ayala shook his head.

"It's a leftover from the Occupation. Any orphaned Bajoran child, or one whose family is missing, can be given a court-appointed guardian until a blood family member is located or the child reaches the age of majority. I took being named his guardian seriously, I want you to know that. Since I've been on the station, I've visited Ral - Raul - at least once a month, more often when I can. Even when I was with the irregular Bajoran militia - what was left of the Maquis, actually - I visited him as often as I could. Kajee very quickly came to love him as much as she did her own daughter Lajen, so I didn't let myself worry about what would happen to him if something happened to me. The last time I visited, she asked me if I'd allow her to adopt him. I almost said okay, but something held me back." She stopped her relentless pacing and stared down at Ayala. "I probably should have said yes, but I didn't want to stop having responsibility for him. He's the closest thing to family I have, Ayala. I want you to understand. I care about him." Her voice broke. "I don't think I'd have ever let you know he existed if I hadn't seen the way you are with Luis."

Ro Laren seldom cried. She'd seen too much, lived too long with excruciating pain to feel the need to give in to her emotions very often. She was blinking back tears now. They were nothing compared to those streaming out of Michael Ayala's eyes, however. Wordlessly, he stood, grasping her hands and squeezing them tightly in his. Even if Ro hadn't already done her homework, she would have sensed the basic goodness of the man as they stood there, both awash in grief; Ayala for the lost years of his son's life he could never share, Ro for the imminent loss of Raul as her ward now that his father had returned from the dead. Yet, through her pain, Ro was also reassured they would share a lifelong connection, forged through their mutual love of Raul. Somehow, she was sure Ayala realized it, too: they were linked as members of the same family, not one of blood but of spirit.

Ayala was the first to be able to speak. "Thank you for keeping my son safe."

She nodded her head, finally managing to answer with something totally inadequate to the circumstances, but the only thing she could think of to say. "You're welcome."

"I've got to tell Luis about his brother."

"Raul still talks about his brother all the time. Luis should come with us to Bajor."

"I should tell Anne Carey and her sons, too."

"Yeah, I think so." Now that she was starting to recover from the trauma caused by her revelations to Ayala, Ro began to think her extended family of the spirit had just gotten even bigger, thanks to Anne Carey's care of Luis Ayala. Life could be very strange.

Ayala took a step towards the door. Stopping, he turned back to Ro and smiled at her. "I can never thank you enough, Ro Laren."

"I just did what anyone would do," she demurred, following him to the door.

"Maybe so. Maybe not. But thanks, anyway." He reached out for her hand and shook it again before striding into the corridor.

She watched him as he walked away from her, his shoulders squared, his head held high. After he passed by Quark's and the Klingon restaurant, disappearing from sight, Ro sat at her desk. Plunking her elbows on the top, she clasped her hands in front of her chin and covered her face with her hands. Although no tears came, she felt a little weak from the intensity of her emotional reaction to Ayala.

Gradually, the ache in her heart from revisiting memories she wished she could forget began to ebb as she replaced them with remembering the way the tall, quiet man had listened to her horrific story and of his reaction to the news of his second son's survival. He had expressed gratitude for what, to Ro, was the only way she could have acted in this situation. The more she thought of him, she found her respect for the man growing. He was, truly, a very good man.

#

"Captain Janeway, a word," Commander Craig called out.

"Commander Craig, as you are probably well aware, I'm a rather busy."

"I heard. I've also been asked about two Ferengi and their involvement with the Romulans."

She stopped walking. "I understand the two Ferengi made a very public attempt to kidnap one of *my* crew. And started talking to everyone after their arrest. My crew has lived within the ridiculous constraints placed upon us by Starfleet."

"Even before then, I'd heard people talking."

"Commander Craig, for nearly eight years we struggled to make it home. On our own, I might add. We did it on our own - and my crew has *every* right to want to tell their stories. Damn it Commander, we deserve it. I'm not sorry we can't be pigeonholed into some tidy Starfleet cubbyhole." She took a deep breath. "The crew responsible for the fight have been confined to quarters." There was no point in antagonizing the man. Craig stared at her, then shook his head.

"Captain Janeway, I know you've not wanted me here. I also know that we've both being stonewalled by Starfleet high command, but the reasons I am here are legitimate ones. You've seen how the press can interpret events."

"The Risian articles?" She'd only heard about them, she hadn't read them - nor did she want to read them. Unfortunately, she probably would have to.

"There are enough who believe such trash. And some who would like to believe it. And there are some in Starfleet who believe that you don't deserve anything."

"Because we weren't here for the Dominion war? Because we weren't here when the Breen attacked Earth. Damn it, I know we weren't here. But they didn't face the Kazon, the Hirogen, species 8472..." She clenched her fist. It was so frustrating. They had returned home - but home was no longer what it used to be. They'd missed so much - more than the wars.

Craig gave her a crooked smile. "Ma'am, your story will be a bestseller."

"I'm not writing a book."

"You should. It would help the press conferences anyway."

"I'm sure someone will write this book, but right now my responsibility is to my crew - and making sure they are given the respect they deserve." She glanced around the station. "Commander Craig, we will continue to avoid talking to the press - no matter our opinion."

"Thank you, Captain. It's only for a few more hours. Once Captain Picard arrives, we'll be leaving for Earth."

And maybe we'll finally get some answers, she wished. But despite the lack of answers, she knew they were all anxious to return to Earth and to be with their families. "I need to meet with my engineering staff," she said as an excuse to end the conversation. She turned to go, but before she took more than a step, her combadge chirped. "Captain Janeway here," she said without stopping.

"Lieutenant Ayala. Captain, request permission to go down to Bajor to see my son?"

"Granted. Lieutenant you need to be on board _Voyager_ in ten hours."

"Thank you, Captain. Ayala out." She smiled. At least this lengthy stopover had some positive benefits, for some of her crew anyway.

"Captain Janeway," Craig said from behind her. "You just allowed one of your crewmen to go down to Bajor?"

"Yes, I did." She grimaced. Craig would now remind her that they were supposed to avoid any additional diversions - and all crew were to remain on Deep Space Nine. He did.

"Commander, consider it *compassionate leave.*"

"Captain Janeway, Admiral Nechayev specifically gave the order..."

"And I take full responsibility - but I am not going to deny Lieutenant Ayala the chance to see his son. A son he'd thought dead."

Craig nodded slightly. "Perhaps it would be better if the boy came to Deep Space Nine?"

"The best interests of the boy are not served by doing that - just Starfleet's." She smiled, indicating the conversation was closed. Right now she was getting tired of Starfleet - and the bureaucratic nightmare they'd returned home to.

#

"Another Sangria, Mister Torres?"

John Torres looked at the Ferengi bartender's ingratiating smile, and shook his head. He downed the last of the drink he'd ordered and set the glass on the bar.

"We have a wide selection of drinks from every planet in the quadrant, and if we don't have it I can make it," the persistent Ferengi said. "Or you might want to try your hand at one of our Dabo tables..."

"No, thanks." John had gotten the information he wanted. He nodded to the other patrons at the bar, picked up his duffel and made his departure before the bartender could offer him anything else.

He stepped out into the Promenade, where it was nearly as crowded as the bar. Mixed among the local Bajorans and traders of various races were uniformed Starfleet officers, some of them from the _Enterprise_, he'd been informed. Several of those dressed in civilian clothing had that calculating, hungry look that identified them as reporters. They'd found their way here right after _Voyager_'s arrival.

John, on the other hand, had arrived less than an hour ago, on an Andorian freighter. It was the only transportation he'd been able to find on such short notice that could get him to Deep Space Nine quickly, though he was probably too late.

He stopped as he spotted a blonde woman wearing an outdated Starfleet uniform. She was leaving the Promenade, moving toward the docking rings. According to the talkative Bajoran at the bar, most of the _Voyager_ crew were still wearing those uniforms, perhaps out of a sense of solidarity, or simply because they hadn't had time to replicate the newer ones. Another _Voyager_ officer, this one a redheaded man with a sturdy build, was strolling along the row of portable merchant kiosks nearby. A woman walked at his side, her hand on his arm and her face wreathed in a wide smile. Following behind them two gangly boys, one redheaded and one dark-haired like the woman, surveyed their surroundings with lively curiosity.

John had followed _Voyager_'s story closely ever since the ship's EMH had reestablished contact with Starfleet over four years ago. He would have recognized Joe Carey, B'Elanna's second in Engineering, even without the fact that he'd spoken with Anne Carey when she'd added his name to the _Voyager_ Family Association mail list. Most of the friends and family of _Voyager_'s crew had remained on Earth awaiting the ship's arrival there, but a few had made it here. He'd heard a Mrs. Kim mentioned in Quark's Bar, and Joe Carey's family had obviously decided not to wait, aided perhaps by Anne's involvement in the VFA.

John watched the family stop at a kiosk, where Anne picked up a crystal and examined its surface. The younger of the boys edged in for a closer look. Joe tousled his hair and shared a knowing grin with the older boy. They all seemed completely at ease with each other, as if eight years had been little more than a few days' separation.

He envied them, and he wondered again why he'd given into impulse and rushed here, when no such happy reunion awaited him. He'd left an unfinished project outside Beijing, along with an unhappy business partner, and now his rash decision to come here was for naught. _Voyager_ would be leaving in just a few hours, headed to Earth with the _Enterprise_ as an escort.

Someone bumped him and muttered a quick apology. John pulled his duffel a bit closer. Better safe than sorry in these crowded environs. He hadn't checked into a place to stay yet, which was just as well. He'd probably be taking the next ship back to Earth again. Even if B'Elanna had been willing to see him when he'd arrived here unannounced, she was probably already on _Voyager_, preparing for departure. He doubted calling the ship and demanding to speak to his daughter would go over well with her. It would probably be better to do what he should have done in the first place - wait until _Voyager_ arrived at Earth to arrange a meeting, with B'Elanna's consent.

John was about to turn away when another _Voyager_ officer approached Joe Carey. The man was tall and blond, and carrying a small child who appeared to be asleep on his shoulder. He recognized them even before the man turned and gave him a better view of their faces, and his heart skipped a beat.

Tom Paris, his son-in-law. And Miral Paris, his granddaughter. He'd seen them both during the real time connection of the FTL call, when he'd asked B'Elanna for another chance, and she'd agreed to write him. He'd exchanged nothing more than a polite greeting with Tom after then. His granddaughter, who wasn't old enough to understand his betrayal, had given him a cursory look with her dark eyes before occupying herself with her father's uniform pips.

Tom said something to the Carey boys, who smiled at him, then turned to speak to Joe. Though they were too far away for John to hear what Tom was saying, it was doubtful his son-in-law finished before another voice called his name.

Frozen in place, John watched his daughter stride toward her husband. He couldn't help staring, drinking in the sight of her. He'd looked at photos of her over the years, along with recent newsvids, even talked to her over a video connection, but this was different. She was *here*, just meters away. She moved with the same graceful economy of her mother, her body radiating with barely leashed energy, even when she paused to speak to Anne Carey.

When she turned to Joe, that intensity was even more visible as she punctuated her words to him with the movement of her hands. Whatever the subject of discussion - probably something about _Voyager_ or her engines - B'Elanna was clearly passionate about it. Tom put a hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it away, giving him an irritated look. Tom didn't back away, but said something while young Miral slept on.

John watched the two as they interacted for several seconds, speaking animatedly and then nodding in some sort of agreement. Then B'Elanna turned and resumed her conversation with Joe, who smiled at his colleague with almost brotherly fondness. After her initial greeting to B'Elanna, Anne Carey had resumed studying the crystal display, and the two boys had wandered to the next kiosk, where a variety of items more to their interest were displayed.

John studied his daughter with the all-encompassing greed of someone who'd been exiled for years, even if it had been a self- imposed exile. He heart filled with pride and regret. His little girl had grown into a beautiful, talented woman, surrounded by people who loved her. And he'd had nothing to do with that, except to make it harder for her.

A couple of minutes ago he'd been ready to turn and leave, sure he'd missed the opportunity to meet his daughter with _Voyager_ about to leave. Now, here she was, just a few dozen steps away. There was no reason he couldn't walk those steps and tell her how much he'd missed her, that he'd never stopped loving her, and that he'd do anything to be a part of her life again.

His heart thudded in his chest, and his palms went damp. No reason at all.

Except that she was obviously busy. Involved in a discussion with her fellow engineer, trying to prepare _Voyager_ for its trip to Earth, and, now that he thought about it, probably anxious about her reception from Starfleet. He'd heard the speculation about whether the Maquis on _Voyager_ would be prosecuted. His heart denied the possibility, and he knew from the VFA newsletters that public opinion was strongly against any prosecution. B'Elanna's father-in-law was a high-ranking admiral, one who rumor had was not officially involved in any decision-making, but who surely could wield some influence over the future of his son and daughter-in-law.

Now that he thought about it, this really wasn't the time to add any more tension to B'Elanna's life. It would be better to wait, and let them get everything else settled. Then he would find the right time to approach her -

Something told John he was being watched, and his eyes shifted to find Tom Paris's fixed gaze locked on him. He had no idea how long Tom had been watching him while he'd been focused on B'Elanna, but sheer instinct, honed from a lifetime of avoiding confrontation, prompted him to slip out of sight behind one of the large support beams. He cursed himself immediately for not leaving sooner. Then he cursed himself once again. What the hell was he doing going through another mental list of pathetic rationalizations?

When he'd first left Miral all those years ago, he'd started letters to B'Elanna, but he'd never finished them. He'd initiated subspace calls to her, but he'd disconnected before they could go through. With each month that passed, each year, it got harder and harder to reestablish his connection to his daughter, until he'd convinced himself she wouldn't want him around, and that she was better off without him. He'd let the opportunities repeatedly slip away, while assuring himself he was doing the "right" thing. B'Elanna had seemed to be surviving fine without him, even thriving - winning a variety of engineering honors in school, and being accepted into Starfleet Academy. By the time she'd quit the Academy and drifted into the Maquis, he'd been out of her life so long he told himself it was too late to change anything, even while he was haunted by what his abandonment might have done to her.

John snorted softly with self-disgust. He was sick of justifying his lousy choices, of burying himself in work to forget what he'd done, of denial and self-recriminations. He'd made a promise, and he wasn't going to let himself weasel out of it. If he was going to make things right, he was going to start now.

Resolved, he stepped from behind the support beam, and was startled to find himself face to face with Tom Paris.

"Mister Torres." Tom Paris's voice was soft, his blue eyes cool as they assessed John. "What a surprise to find you here."

John's gaze was drawn to the baby sleeping against Tom's shoulder. He knew his granddaughter was about to turn a year old. He stared, entranced, at the dark lashes brushing her rosy cheeks, her full red lips, and the soft, dark curls framing her face. She looked angelic, and the faint ridges on her forehead only added to her beauty. He spoke distractedly, "Yes, I wanted - "

"To see B'Elanna?" Tom finished for him. "From a distance, before you run away again?"

John frowned. For all he'd heard about Tom Paris's own troubled past, this man was staring at him with a hard and not particularly forgiving expression. But he couldn't fault that, considering the circumstances. John glanced past Tom and saw that B'Elanna was still engrossed in her conversation with Joe Carey. "I did come to see B'Elanna. I heard _Voyager_ was delayed here for repairs, and I thought I could make it before you left for Earth. I should have let B'Elanna know I was coming, but - "

"B'Elanna can probably spare a couple of minutes," Tom said, cutting him off. "Maybe she'll be impressed that you came all this way to see her."

Tom didn't sound as if he thought so, and John didn't expect it. "I didn't come to impress her. I came because..."

Tom's eyebrows rose, waiting for John to finish. At that moment Miral shifted suddenly and whimpered in her sleep. Tom stroked her hair lightly with his free hand as she resettled herself against his shoulder. "S'okay, sweetie," he murmured, his lips pressed to her forehead.

Despite the noise and bustle around them, Miral slipped her thumb into her mouth and immediately stilled, once again asleep. John felt a sudden ache in his chest watching her. She looked just like B'Elanna when she'd been that age. He remembered the feel of holding his own baby daughter, snuggled warmly in his arms, exuding clean baby scent, full of unquestioning trust.

John blinked quickly and looked at Tom. "She's beautiful. She looks like her mother."

There was a flash of pride and affection in Tom's eyes. "For which I'm extremely grateful."

"You obviously love her very much." Both of them, John amended to himself.

"Of course I do. She's my *daughter*."

And he'd never walk away from her, no matter how hard things became. Tom didn't have to say the words; his expression was enough to convey the message to John. "Whatever my weaknesses as a father, I do love B'Elanna. That's never changed. But I don't blame you for hating me."

"I don't hate you," Tom said. Then his lips quirked wryly, the first break in his defensive demeanor. "I'm sure you've heard about my past. I spent a good part of my life destroying my relationships with just about everyone around me. I almost did with B'Elanna, and we barely made it past my hang-ups, and hers. So I'm in no position to judge you."

"Thank you for that."

"Though that doesn't mean I trust you," Tom added, glancing at B'Elanna. John followed his gaze and tensed. She appeared to be finishing her conversation with Joe Carey, and Anne was joining her husband again.

"Look," Tom said, his sharp tone recapturing John's attention. "I don't care about the past. God knows, I have one for the books. What matters is *now.* B'Elanna's managed all these years without you. She has me now, and Miral, and her family from _Voyager_. Though she might not be immediately receptive, I think she'd eventually welcome a father in her life - a *real* father. What she won't welcome, and I won't welcome, is any half-hearted gestures, or any temporary efforts at salving your conscience. So, either you mean what you said in your letters and during the FTL call, that you're prepared to be in B'Elanna's life, and our daughter's, completely and for good - no ifs, ands or buts - or I want you to leave now and never come back."

John knew in that moment he could turn around and disappear into the crowd, and Tom would never mention that he'd been here. Or he could commit heart and soul to renewing his relationship with B'Elanna, no matter how long it took or how difficult it might be to win her trust and love again, if it ever happened.

That moment seemed to stretch endlessly, between his past and future, between the man John Torres had been and the man he could be. The moment passed and he didn't move. B'Elanna did, and her smile for her husband faded as she spotted the man with him.

John saw Tom tense, not with apprehension but with watchfulness, perhaps ready to step in front of B'Elanna if she took a swing at her father. Or maybe Tom would stand his ground, since John deserved that and more.

When B'Elanna reached them, her expression was composed. Or, as composed as someone with her temperament could make it. Her dark eyes flashed as she spoke. "What are you doing here?"

John couldn't answer for several seconds. She was so close he had to fight the urge to hug her, despite her belligerence. She'd worn that defiance like a shield, even as a child. Once her mutinous expression had filled him with a sense of inadequacy, but now it seemed so dear to him...so B'Elanna. "When I saw on the news vids that _Voyager_ had arrived at Deep Space Nine, I booked passage on an Andorian freighter headed here. The captain charged me double fare for a closet-sized room with a cot, and it was the noisiest ship I've even been on, but at least it got me here. Better..."

John paused. He'd been about to blithely say "Better late than never" but B'Elanna probably didn't see it that way right now. He'd intended to state his case and speak from his heart when he faced her again. Instead, his nervousness had prompted inane conversation to come out of his mouth.

B'Elanna finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence. "We leave in three hours, and we have to get back to the ship. Looks like you wasted your time."

Her tone was dismissive, but John wasn't deterred. "I know we'll have to wait for a real talk until you're back on Earth - "

"There will be a lot of ceremonies, and briefings, and...other things."

"I can make time whenever you're free - "

B'Elanna made a noncommittal sound. "We have to go." She turned and took Miral from Tom's arms, though the baby fussed at being moved. Tom hadn't said anything, and he didn't say anything now. He just watched calmly.

"B'Elanna, I didn't waste my time coming here. I wanted to see you, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. I meant what I said when we spoke three months ago. I want that second chance, even if you regret offering it, and I'm going to take it. I know you need time, and I'll give it to you. But I'm going to be around for good, whether it's here, or on Earth, or wherever you and Tom decide to settle. Industrial engineering is a wide-open field. I'll move, if that's what it takes."

B'Elanna turned back abruptly, her eyes blazing with anger. "Even if I believed you, what makes you think you have the right after all this time?"

She practically snarled those words in his face, any pretense of indifference gone. John hoped that was a good sign. "I don't have any right. I know that. It's ultimately your decision. I don't expect you to believe me right now, but however long it takes you to forgive me, and for us to know each other again, I'll wait."

"Mama?" Miral was awake, aware of her mother's agitation.

B'Elanna visibly calmed herself, and stroked her daughter's cheek until Miral settled her head in the crook of her mother's neck, her eyes wide and focused on John.

John smiled at Miral. He ached to hold her, but he knew that would have to wait. "She's beautiful, B'Elanna." He'd said so during the FTL call, but he said it again. "Just like you've always been."

B'Elanna gave him a smoldering look, her temper now under tenuous control. He'd already told her how proud Miral would have been to know her granddaughter bore her name. He hadn't had time to tell her that he'd talked to her mother when _Voyager_ had disappeared, and again after Starfleet had announced _Voyager_'s safe status in the Delta Quadrant. Despite their past differences, they'd both remained focused on B'Elanna, and her safety. He had a lot to tell his daughter.

"You wanted to stop by Ro's office," B'Elanna said to Tom, avoiding her father's gaze.

"I'll be on Earth when you get there, B'Elanna," John said. He'd find another ship going back and he'd make sure he was there by the time they got finished with the Starfleet ceremonies and briefings, waiting.

B'Elanna looked at him briefly. "Suit yourself," she said with a shrug, then turned and walked away.

It wasn't exactly an invitation, but it wasn't a rejection either. John knew it was the best he would get for now. It was a beginning, and that was enough.

Tom gave John a quick nod. For the first time, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and a glimpse of the roguish pilot showed through. "See you on Earth."

John watched as Tom caught up to B'Elanna, resting his hand lightly on her back. It was a natural gesture, but a protective one. He'd heard the popular theory that their relationship was a tempestuous one, and that they'd had a volatile courtship. Tom had implied as much, and John didn't doubt it. Tom had also implied he wasn't like John, and that John didn't doubt either.

He'd never been good at confrontation, and the truth was, he and Miral hadn't been suited to each other. She'd been too strong- willed, and he'd been too weak-willed. He didn't sense any lack of will in Tom Paris. Whatever the mistakes or regrets in his past, however difficult it had been to turn his life around, it was clear that Tom had chosen his path this time, and was embracing it. John had always let himself be dragged along, first by his youthful emotions, and then by whatever was easiest, whether it was deferring to Miral, or running and never looking back.

He regretted that, especially the way he'd walked out on Miral and B'Elanna, severing every tie, as if that would also sever his feelings, his mistakes, and his weaknesses that had contributed to a failed marriage. Instead, in abandoning his daughter he'd cut off a part of himself. He'd learned his lessons too late, but he suspected Tom had learned them in time.

He wondered if B'Elanna knew as well that Tom would never walk out on his little girl in a million years. He hoped his own example didn't live as doubt in her mind.

As if she sensed his attention on her, B'Elanna glanced back just as she and Tom exited the Promenade. It was a quick glance, and she turned away the moment their eyes met, disappearing down the corridor. John suspected it was an involuntary action, and she was probably kicking herself for looking to see if he was still here. He knew it would be a long time before she'd trust that he would be.

His emotions were caught between relief, joy, and trepidation, but mostly he felt joy. B'Elanna, his little girl, was okay. Better than okay.

"She's doing great, Miral. You'd be so proud of her." John spoke in a low voice, ignoring the curious looks as people passed by, watching him talking to empty air. "She's not just alive, she's living her life unafraid, taking everything offered to her, including love. She's found true honor. And your granddaughter is beautiful. You'd probably even tolerate Tom Paris, because he loves them both without reservation, and he'd stand up to you."

He smiled. Miral had always admired that in a person, even in her own daughter, when she wasn't exasperated with her. "I know I failed B'Elanna once, but I won't fail her again, or our granddaughter. This time, I'll keep my promise. So, you can get on with your afterlife, and swing your bat'leth all over Sto-Vo-Kor with abandon. I'll be here to watch after them."

"Excuse me!"

John looked at the young Bajoran woman rushing toward him, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"I saw you talking to the couple from _Voyager_ a minute ago. Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres. Do you know them?"

Her voice was eager, as if she sensed a scoop in the making. He hated to disappoint her, but he didn't give out information to reporters, not even when they were pretty. "Sorry, I don't know them. I was just wishing them a good trip home."

She clearly was disappointed. "Oh. I thought maybe...well, thanks, anyway."

He watched her move away, glad that she was inexperienced enough to give up so easily. And he hadn't lied to her. He didn't really know Tom, or his daughter, B'Elanna, anymore. But he would.

Smiling, and feeling pleased with himself for the first time in a long while, John slung his duffel over his shoulder and went in search for a ship to take him back to Earth.

#

"Admiral Nechayev for you, sir," Commander Riker announced.

"I'll take it in my ready room," Picard acknowledged, exchanging faintly amused glances with his first officer and Counselor Troi. Will had sworn they'd hear from her within the hour, as soon as their new course was known, and the _Enterprise_, accompanied by _Voyager_ and the Defiant, had left Deep Space Nine barely forty minutes ago.

Slowly, Picard walked to his desk in his ready room. He deliberately sat down before opening the channel. "Admiral Nechayev, to what do I owe the pleasure of this communication?" he asked smoothly.

::Jean-Luc, you know very well you were expected to proceed immediately to Earth after rejoining the _Enterprise_ on Deep Space Nine.::

"We are returning to Earth, Admiral."

::Not directly. Your course has deviated considerably from what was anticipated.::

"My orders did not specify any particular route."

::It was certainly implicit in those orders for you to take the most expeditious route possible, since you were asked to leave as soon as you rejoined your ship at Deep Space Nine!::

"The arrival time of the _Enterprise_ and _Voyager_ to the Earth system will not be compromised in any way by this very slight course change. A negligible increase in our average warp speed is all that will be required to make up lost time."

::What about the stopover at your intermediate destination?::

"We will be there an hour, perhaps two, at most. Captain Janeway has asked for the opportunity to hold a short memorial service at a gravesite on Jelzin II..."

::A planet which is interdicted because of its pre-warp culture.::

"The damage to that culture appears to have already been done by the Dominion during their attack of several years ago," Picard pointed out. "In any case, there will be no further cultural contamination. The gravesite is nowhere near where any of that population lives, and we will depart as soon as the service is over."

::_Voyager_ has been in the vicinity of Jelzin for almost two weeks. Why didn't they hold this service long ago?:: Nechayev asked rather waspishly.

"The fact that the body of Ayala Marit was among those interred at the cairn on Jelzin II was not known either to Captain Janeway or Michael Ayala until yesterday evening. They could not reasonably be expected to make a trip before knowing it was something they would wish to do. I'm sure they would have been happy to have done so, had they known, even if only because they'd become rather bored by the charms of Deep Space Nine for the past week or so, since their ship had been repaired but they were not given leave to return to Earth." After a slight pause, he added blandly, "Surely they hadn't needed to wait for my presence to find the proper heading for the last leg of their trip home, considering how far they'd managed to come on their own. And were more than ready for something else to do."

Nechayev stared stonily back at him.

"Besides which...Permission to speak freely, Admiral?" It was rather late to ask for this after his previous statement, but he knew he'd pushed her quite far enough already.

::Granted.::

"I find it difficult to believe you would have been any happier about _Voyager_ taking such a sidetrip a week ago than you are now. It was my understanding that _Voyager_ has been held within the Bajoran system on your personal orders for the past two weeks."

She pursed her lips tightly before replying, but since she'd given him leave to speak, she chose to refrain from taking umbrage at his comment. ::This is a volatile situation, Jean-Luc; you know that. The consequences of any action regarding _Voyager_ required careful deliberation. And as far as your 'side trip' goes-while I can understand why Ayala would want to go to where his wife's body is at rest, why did the entire crew of _Voyager_ have to go along with him?::

"Any starship crew which serves together for a long period of time forms a sort of extended family. It's a well-established phenomenon. When one considers the extraordinary journey of _Voyager_, as well as the personalities of its captain and crew, how much more powerful must be the bond between them! The entire _Voyager_ crew felt the need to offer their support to Mr. Ayala in his time of mourning, not only because of his grief when his worst fears for his wife were confirmed, but also because of their own. The entire crew of _Voyager_ is in mourning for a way of life developed over the past eight years, a community which will be shattered by their return to a less isolated, more ordinary existence. When Captain Janeway explained it all to me, allowing the gathering appeared to be the only rational course."

::So you approve of this memorial service?::

"Having heard the whole story, yes, I do. I would not have given permission, of course, if everyone on _Voyager_-Starfleet crew, the Maquis, and the _Equinox_ survivors alike-would be free to return to this place together as a group to hold one in the near future, after _Voyager_'s triumphant welcome home. Given the nature of the discussions I was privy to while I was on Earth, I did not assume this likely to happen. Was I in error?"

Nechayev gritted her teeth. ::Your compassion is commendable, Jean-Luc, but if the media should get wind of this, we will have a 'situation' on our hands, according to Commander Craig. And since Captain Janeway did little to help control the press on Deep Space Nine, it could turn into a very *messy* situation.::

"When the media is denied a story, they find another any way they can-even if they have to manufacture one. We've seen a perfect illustration of that on Deep Space Nine over the past several days. In this instance, the media has been handed a bittersweet family reunion story, with a Bajoran connection that Colonel Kira will be most eager to use to her advantage. I suggest it may be far better for everyone concerned for the story of a reunited father and his sons to be the one spread by the media, rather than some of the sensational and scurrilous tales they've been publishing. If nothing else, allowing the service to proceed, under these circumstances, is excellent public relations."

Alynna Nechayev seemed perpetually peeved whenever Picard had to deal with her. Perhaps he brought out the worst in her - although he sincerely doubted it. Her expression was even sourer than usual as she considered the ramifications of any actions that could be taken at this point. Finally, looking grim, Nechayev pronounced, ::We shall allow this stopover.::

"I'm sure the crew of _Voyager_ and Captain Janeway will be most grateful to you, Admiral."

::Two hours on Jelzin, Picard. Not a second more. And make sure your ETA is the same as it would have been without the stopover. Don't make me regret this.::

The Federation logo appeared abruptly, leaving Picard to wonder again about Starfleet politics. Perhaps Will's contention that _Voyager_ had returned two years too early was spot on.

Fortunately, Admiral Nechayev apparently had not been told of Michael Ayala's acceptance of the Bajoran offer of political asylum. Ayala may have done it for the best of reasons in the galaxy: to keep his already sadly truncated family as intact as possible for the rest of his children's youthful years; but Picard doubted Admiral Alynna Nechayev would see it that way. With any luck, Picard and the _Enterprise_ would be off on another mission before she learned of it.

Thinking of family matters reminded him of an impending loss in his own "family" on the _Enterprise_. Two losses, in actuality, with Deanna's pending transfer onto Riker's ship. Picard wasn't looking forward to losing either of them, not to mention that he still had to find a wedding present. The task had proven more difficult than anticipated.

Well, then, perhaps he should take up Beverly Crusher on her offer of helping him choose something which would coordinate with the present she was planning to buy the couple.

Picard arose, a slight smile lighting his face. He was not entirely conscious that he tugged the front of his uniform automatically to straighten it on his body when he stood to signal his chief medical officer: "Picard to Crusher."

::Yes, Jean-Luc?::

"About that tea service you were thinking of buying for Will and Deanna..."

#

A crisp breeze whipped Ro's hair around her head, jangling her earring like a miniscule wind chime. While her snugly-fitted Bajoran militia uniform defied the wind's chill pull, it tugged on the clothing of others standing near her. Some gusts were strong, the flapping they caused were loud enough to momentarily drown out Vedek Capril's voice as he intoned prayers of remembrance for those buried beneath the cairn of large stones. Ro shivered as much from *deja vu* as from the cold.

The sun was low on Jelzin's horizon, although it was still fairly early in the afternoon. The autumnal equinox soon would bring very short days and extremely long nights to this arctic region. If the planet weren't so near its sun, the climate in this subarctic region would be unbearable, a frozen waste. As it was, the land was raw and bare in many spots. Sparse vegetation struggled to reclaim its hegemony over scarred hillsides and stream banks clogged with boulders, many marked with the tell-tale fissures and burns of blaster fire.

The last time she'd been here it had been high summer, but far less vegetation had been visible then. In the intervening years since a meager handful of Maquis warriors had slipped back to this world to raise rock cairns over those bodies that could be retrieved, Jelzin had followed the pattern of many worlds throughout the quadrant. Within the rhythm of seasons, the cycle of growth from one year to the next, Mother Nature - or the Prophets - had begun repairs to the damaged land, bringing forth new life to replace that which had been lost.

Humanoid life could not be replaced the way the plants had reclothed the hills and valleys, of course. Those souls were gone forever from this plane of existence, to live on only within the memories of those who had known them.

Each of the bodies she had helped carry to their final resting place, not to mention those which had been totally erased by the awesome power of plasma weapons, had once been a unique individual, with thoughts, dreams and hopes for the future. They all had been crushed because of the inability of other beings to learn the simplest of lessons: live and let live.

The cairn before Ro matched four other piles of stone in other locations. There was one for each of the destroyed Maquis camps, along with another on the northern continent. A group of reptilian bipeds indigenous to Jelzin had inexplicably suffered the same fate as the their uninvited Maquis neighbors hiding far to the south. Although no contact had ever been made between the technologically advanced visitors at the pole with the native nomadic beings, the rain of fire had descended from the sky and destroyed their encampment, too. A simple sensor-sweep would have shown the Cardassians and Jem'Hadar they were not the enemies they sought, but the Dominion warriors apparently had not bothered to find that out. They attacked and killed them anyway.

Earth had its stories of ancient deluge; Bajor, its legends of the Pah-Wraiths. Ro idly wondered if the survivors of the attack upon that northern camp might tell stories of the day the sun reached down to scorch the land, killing those who must have done *something* wrong to have been punished in that way. It was not something she would live long enough to find out. After today, Ro Laren would never step foot upon Jelzin again if she could help it, although she knew she could never forget this planet.

Nor would she forget this day. One hundred seventy-three people, standing in an irregular circle around the large pile of stones, bowed their heads in respect for people that virtually none of them had ever met. Some held the hand of a significant person, others remained solitary and alone, as if to touch another would bring pain rather than comfort. All listened as Vedek Capril blessed the stone they had brought to Jelzin to be erected upon this mass grave. There were names engraved upon it, those of the known dead such as Ayala Marit, but these were pitifully few in number. Most of the slain could be commemorated only with the words, "and those whose names are known only to the Prophets."

The entire crew of _Voyager_ was here. Picard and Riker had sent volunteers from the _Enterprise_ to man _Voyager_'s stations so that everyone could go down to the surface. Picard, Riker, Troi, Crusher, and a handful of other officers from the _Enterprise_ were there. Surprisingly, after having kicked up a fuss about the stop at Jelzin, Commander Craig had also chosen to beam down to the cairn. He stood a little apart from the others, but from the shocked look upon his face when he first surveyed the site upon his arrival and his chastened visage now, the scope of the massacre had affected him deeply.

The civilians traveling back to Earth on _Voyager_ were also all present. Alicia Paris held her granddaughter Miral in her arms; Mrs. Janeway stood between Mary Kim and Anne Carey and her sons. Kira held an arm around the shoulders of Kajee Narel and her daughter Kajee Lajen.

The most significant of all the "civilians" stood in front of Vedek Capril. Luis and Raul Ayala flanked their father Michael, Luis to the left; Raul to the right. The former Starfleet officer and former Maquis had his arms over the shoulders of his sons as they all remembered Ayala Marit, wife and mother, who had never fought in any battles but lost her life in one, killed along with thousands of others who had been massacred simply because they had been related to those who had. As they stood with their father, both boys looked a little stunned by the rapid chain of events that had brought them here as a reconstituted family, although it could never be completely whole again.

Ayala had given them the choice of whether to transport down to the surface to the cairn or not for the service. They had been there before; terrible memories of the day their mother had died could be rekindled by going there again. Both boys had chosen to go. At least they achieved some closure this way, knowing what had happened to every member of their family. Ro shuddered to think of how many families - or even whole settlements - had been so completely wiped out that no one remained to mourn the lost. As bad as things could be in this post Dominion War era, at least *that* was no longer happening - at least, not that Ro had heard.

After the Vedek spoke the closing words of the simple memorial service, finishing with the traditional words, "Walk with the Prophets," he walked over to the family Ayala Marit had left behind, lightly touching the heads of the three in blessing before pacing back through the crowd. The circle broke up then, with the crew of _Voyager_ backing up to form an aisle through which Ayala and his sons could walk.

After a few more minutes of silent prayer the Ayala family turned away from the cairn, walking gradually up the pathway created by their shipmates. The pace was slow, for every person they passed had a word of comfort to share, a hand held out for shaking, a pat for a shoulder, or arms held wide for a hug. Ro shook her head in wonder as she watched the spontaneous outpouring of affection for the tall, quiet man and his boys.

Caught up in the moment, Ro was startled when a resonant, very familiar voice spoke in her ear, "Remarkable, isn't it? It's more like a family than a starship crew."

Ro steeled her resolve and met the eyes of her former captain. "Not when one considers what they went through together."

"You would know quite a lot about that yourself," Picard noted.

"More than I ever wanted to know," she agreed.

"From what I hear, you're still helping out your former Maquis."

"You heard about Ayala, then?" Ro asked.

"Taking up the offer of asylum? Yes, it's the main topic of conversation on _Enterprise_, just as it is on _Voyager_. I must say, I'm rather surprised he's the only one of Janeway's crew that did so, under the circumstances."

"I'm not. They're all fiercely loyal to her, and they want to stand with her and their crewmates until the very end. It's only different for Ayala because he has his boys to think about. When we were heading to Bajor to see Raul, he told me he never wanted to be separated from them again. If he goes on to Earth, who knows what may happen?"

Picard smiled slightly. "So you offered him a job?"

Ro's smile matched Picard's. "Yeah. He's a tough guy when he needs to be, but most of the time he's a very gentle giant. That's not a combination that's easy for me to find. And I like his style. I was really impressed by the way he treated Raul at Kajee's. He didn't force him to come to him, just waited until he'd stopped hugging his big brother and allowed Luis to bring him over for an introduction. He was very sensitive to Kajee and her daughter's feelings, too. So when we were returning to the station, I offered him a post with station security."

"He has abundant experience as Commander Tuvok's second in tactical."

Ro snorted back a laugh. "The references he gave Ayala were so glowing, I was amazed they came from a Vulcan."

"Richly deserved, I hear. So, thanks to you and the Bajoran government, Michael Ayala will follow a different path in life from the rest of the crew of _Voyager_."

"I might be able to make a few more job offers, if anyone is really interested."

At that, Picard laughed out loud. Ro's heart lightened at the sound. She could never have imagined being able to laugh with Jean-Luc Picard a few years ago, not after the way she had disappointed him. It seemed the right time for something she had longed to do for quite a while.

"Captain Picard," she gulped. "There's something I want to say to you, about that time I...left Enter..."

He put a hand on her arm and stopped her stumbling address, his eyes piercing deeply into hers. "There's nothing more to be said, Lieutenant Ro, than for *me* to tell *you* how very glad I am you helped build this cairn rather than be one of those buried beneath it."

Ro could find no words with which to respond. Accepting the hand he offered her, she squeezed his fingers as tightly as he did hers. Perhaps he needed her forgiveness for what had transpired at the time of her defection as much as she needed it from him. Although Ro could never imagine Jean-Luc Picard hugging her the way Kathryn Janeway was fiercely hugging Ayala good-bye in the center of the crowd at that moment, the clasping of Ro's and Picard's hands may have soothed the two of them as well as any embrace.

After several seconds Picard cleared his throat, although he did not release his hold upon Ro's hand. "I know Admiral Nechayev will be *extremely* unhappy with Captain Janeway and me if our ships don't get underway very shortly. And if I'm not mistaken, Colonel Kira and you will be missed if you don't return to Deep Space Nine soon. It's time we all got underway. Shall we offer our own farewells to Ayala and the others?" Picard asked.

Ro nodded her head. "Yeah, I think so. It's time."

EPILOGUE

After the memorial service, no one seemed ready to disperse. Perhaps the solemnity of the moment simply demanded more time, or perhaps, Kathryn thought, it only served to remind everyone that their time as a single crew was coming to an end and they wanted to stay together as long as possible.

She wanted to stay there with them as well, but she had an appointment to keep. After whispering her intention to Chakotay, she slipped away and returned to _Voyager_. As she entered her ready room, Kathryn said, "Computer. Engage privacy lock. No interruptions." The command was sufficient to assure that no one would barge in for anything less than a full scale attack on the ship or the station. She wanted privacy for this transmission.

Sitting at her desk, she activated the computer and punched in a few quick commands. Almost immediately, she found herself looking at the logo for the United Federation of Planets, and then Owen Paris appeared. "Captain," he said evenly. "It's good to see you again. Are you alone?"

"I am. And you?"

He relaxed into a smile. "Yes. My God, Kathryn, it is good to see you. I wish I were there to give you a proper hug."

She smiled. "You'll have a chance soon. We're scheduled to leave for Earth in less than an hour."

"I know." His happiness faded. "I can guess why you're calling."

"You probably can. Admiral-" she paused and leaned forward - "Owen. *What* is going on? Why won't anyone tell me what's going to happen?"

He cleared his throat, and then folded his hands together in an oddly formal pose that was, even for Owen, stiff and unnatural. "I can tell you what will happen in the short term. _Enterprise_ will escort _Voyager_ back to the Sol system, where you will be given final instructions. So far, they can't decide whether to have you disembark at Spacedock or at HQ. Whichever, you will receive the red carpet treatment and full honors - bands, color guards, even the President of the Federation will be there. The speeches will last at least an hour. Your crew will then be asked to report to Starfleet Medical for a once-over before letting everyone meet their families. Apparently there is still some fear that your EMH might have missed something and you are carrying some Delta Quadrant germ. I know, I know - it doesn't make sense to do medical clearance after you shake the President's hand. You've all been checked out by your own physician and at Deep Space Nine. The exams here are just perfunctory.

"After medical clearance, all of your crew except you and your senior staff will be given two weeks leave. They want about three days of preliminary de-briefing with your top people before they release you for the holidays."

There was something about his voice, a flatness in his tone, that alerted her. He knew something he hadn't told her - something he didn't like. "What happens after that? What happens to Chakotay and the rest of the Maquis?"

"I don't know, Kathryn, and that is the God's honest truth." He paused, and she realized how much he had aged in the years of _Voyager_'s absence. For the first time, he looked old to her. He went on, "The reason I'm here and not there is that I have been trying to find out. I don't think anyone knows for certain yet."

She frowned. "That's hard to believe."

"Only because you've been away for so long. It's an odd time. We're at a political crossroads, in my opinion." He shook his head. "If you'd made it home two years ago, there would have been no doubt. Your Maquis would be facing certain conviction and prison time. If you hadn't shown up until two years from now, I think nobody would care that they once opposed the Federation and you all would simply be welcomed home. But at the moment, things are in flux."

"We came home too soon?" She glared at him, not caring about his rank. "Do you have any idea how outrageous that is?"

"Yes, I do." His face hardened a little, a sign that he was displeased. "But I have no voice in this. Everyone knows I'm conflicted. Kathryn, you do realize that you've done a great thing, getting back in only eight years?"

She shook her head, and waved a hand in the air to brush off his words. "My crew did a great thing."

"We don't need modesty between us. A crew lives up to its captain's expectations. Wasn't that one of the first things I taught you?" He glared at her so fiercely that for a moment she felt like a green ensign again. "And greatness is best appreciated in the history books. In real time, it has a tendency to make people uncomfortable."

"I don't think of myself as a hero-" she began.

"Just listen," he snapped, teacher to student. "In his day, James T. Kirk was called a renegade, a one-shot wonder and just plain lucky. It wasn't until decades after his death that he received the respect he deserved. Jean-Luc Picard spent virtually all of the Dominion War patrolling the Romulan border. The Romulans were our allies. Do you know why they wasted the flagship of the fleet? Because greatness scares the snot out of the little people who know they can never be great themselves."

"I don't understand," she said slowly.

Owen leaned toward the screen, his gaze intent on her. He was in full professorial mode, just like the days when he had been her thesis advisor at the Academy. "There are plenty of people back here who feel threatened by you. Some because they see independent thought and courage as a threat to the chain of command. They will call you maverick and unreliable. Others fear you because they know they could not have made the hard decisions or endured the privations that you did, and they don't want to be eclipsed by you. Still others don't understand the agony of deciding how far to compromise morals in the name of survival. They've never been in a situation more hazardous than a clogged toilet and tend to see things in black and white."

He paused, arching his eyebrows for emphasis. "And some of these people are admirals."

"Oh." She settled back in her chair. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"I don't know." He looked frustrated. "That's the hell of it, Kathryn. I don't know. But I think so. Those damned scandal sheets haven't done you any good."

She looked away from the screen, drawing a long, slow breath. "I did the best I could. I wasn't perfect, but I never gave it anything less than my best."

"You did great," Owen said with surprising force. "For what it's worth, I'll tell anyone who asks that I couldn't ask anything more of any of my students. You have become a remarkable commander, and if I had any small part in that, I am proud."

If her own father had said that, she could not have been more grateful. Owen Paris had been her advisor, her first commander, her mentor and her role model. For all his flaws and mistakes, he was still the officer who, after Edward Janeway, had influenced her the most. Her heart swelled. "Thank you. It's worth a lot."

"If things go badly, I won't be much use to you except as moral support, but you've got that," he said. "Even if we didn't have as much history as we do, I would owe you my life for what you've done for my son."

"It wasn't me," she said, struggling to keep her emotions under control. "Tom turned himself around."

"Yes, but he had a lot of help from you and that rather intimidating young woman he married." Owen grinned suddenly, and it made him look a decade younger. "I do have a bit of good news, if you wouldn't mind passing it along. I finally heard from the New Zealand outmate board, and it's set to rule on Tom's status. They have to wait until he's back on Earth, but they are going to declare he has served his time and is free to go."

Her smile threatened to split her face. "That is good news. I'll tell him right away."

"And tell him that we'll have a birthday party for Miral as soon as we can. I want to see that little miss blow out her candle."

Kathryn started to tell him that there would be a party on _Voyager_ on Miral's actual birthday, while they were en route to Earth, but caught herself in time. Owen probably knew that and didn't care - he had every right to throw another party if he wanted. Despite all the reunions, she was still operating in Delta Quadrant terms. She had to get used to being home again, and remembering that family beyond the ship's bulkheads were once again active participants in their lives. "Of course you do. Don't worry. I'll tell him."

"Damn, the timer is blinking at me." He touched some control, then looked at her again. "Kathryn, stay focused on what's important. If they start picking on the minutia, don't lose sight of the big picture. You have done something no other Starfleet captain has ever done and they can't take that away. Don't forget that."

"I won't." She nodded. "See you at HQ, Admiral."

"Count on it, Captain. Count on it."

His image was replaced by the UFP laurel wreath, and then the screen went dark. She sat still, thinking. For some reason she had always thought things would be clearer when they got back to the Alpha Quadrant, that the future would sort itself more quickly and she could plan her strategies with confidence. It seemed that was a pipe dream, and life was just as unpredictable here as in the Delta Quadrant.

"Well," she said aloud, "if there's one thing we've learned in the past eight years, it's how to prepare for the unexpected." Then she stood and smiled. If the here and now were all she could control, she'd do so - including (finally!) having a nice quiet dinner with her mother and Chakotay. Whatever else was waiting for them, it was waiting on Earth.

It was time for _Voyager_ to go home.

CREDITS

Act Three:

- - -Kira and Ro decide to use the media for their own ends - Diane

- - -Janeway/Chakotay worry about status of Maquis and E5 - Christina

- - -Chakotay and Gretchen talk - Christina

- - -Angelo and Tal Celes talk about their futures - Jamelia

- - -The Ferengi brothers interview of Sarexa and Neelix - Christina

- - -Commander Craig talks to Admiral Nechayev

- - -Chakotay and Gretchen talk - Christina

- - -Angelo and Tal Celes talk about their futures - Jamelia

- - -Commander Craig complains to Janeway - Christina

- - -Chakotay, Tom and other crew see the "Ribald Risian" - Christina

- - -Alicia's dinner with Icheb/talks with B'Elanna and Tom - Jamelia

- - -The brawl in Quark's bar - Christina

- - -KJ chews out her brawling crew in the constable's office - Jamelia

Act Four:

- - -Ro tells Ayala about his family - Jamelia

- - -Commander Craig comes to see Janeway - Christina

- - -John Torres contacts his family - Julie

- - -A call from Admiral Nechayev - Christina & Jamelia

- - -On Jelzin II - Jamelia

Epilogue: - Janeway and Admiral Paris speak via subspace - Penny

Coming next: Earthrise by Penny. Christmas Eve, 1968: three men traveled 240,000 miles to discover the moon and 'ended up discovering Earth.' Now, 411 years later, the crew of _Voyager_ rediscover just how precious Earth truly is.


End file.
